


Luckier. Scarred. Burning

by se_lai



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Also called Thee, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Character Death, De Sardet's name is Theodre, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Trouble Sleeping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/se_lai/pseuds/se_lai
Summary: De Sardet doesn’t move, she stares at him instead. He cannot see the look of sharp pain on his own face, like he just touched the forbidden fire and now he panics not to feel that sensation ever again, to not be allowed to even watch the fire as it lights up someone else, someone luckier."Sorry " he stands up practically jumping in panic. "I overstepped, I shouldn’t...""Don’t." Those burning eyes. He has seen her use them to intimidate people countless times, she has that virtue, yet that fire could never burn him. They seem scared, but decided. "Your touching could never upset me".A retelling where I intend to give these people the real bonding we deserved as I finish the game. Nothing more, nothing less.
Relationships: Kurt & De Sardet (GreedFall)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm in the middle of my first playthrough of Greedfall and I'm already in love with the setting and characters, so I thought "Hey, what if the characters actually interacted with each other?", and the combination of the last two things made me do this. It's basically a retelling of the events if the game as I myself play it with more dialogues and relationships. I'll focus firstly in Kurt-De Sardet, the classy slow romance building, slow realization, flirting, you know the recipe. Not even the title is decided. It, of course, CONTAINS SPOILERS.  
> It all starts right after finding out about Constantin's condition aaand I have no idea where it'll get me since I've not even finished the game. Guess that makes it funnier.

At first, all he notices is the faint rush of air that comes through the entrance of the tent.

It’s subtle, for he’s used to being alert at all times, and that includes sleep. Especially sleep. The camp taught him that lesson well. He sighs, rubs his face and gets up. Well, it has been subtle after all, so maybe waking everyone up to go to the corner where they lay their weapons during night is a bit too extreme. He is _not_ dealing with a sleep-deprived Aphra in the morning. So after a quick hesitation, he leaves the tent unarmed as silently as he can.

His eyes adjust to the moonlight fast. Síora is guarding the camp now. Aphra, Síora and himself usually take turns, just the three of them since Petrus, Vasco and De Sardet, reliable as they may be in the daylight, need to be thrown cold water to be wakened, so better not to entrust this task to them. Síora looks asleep, but Kurt knows better. She is wide awake and she has recognized instantly the way his feet touch the earth. Whether it is a matter of skill or are her _on ol menawi_ powers telling her, he rather doesn’t know. He takes a look around before noticing the silhouette that stands a few metres away from the campfire, near the cliff where they are camping. Weshaveneye is so beautiful, even under the faint light of the moon, he had hoped it would let her rest better. Looks like that it didn't happen.

He approaches trying not to wake anyone and to warn the figure of his approach at the same time, which is quite difficult. When he’s just a metres away, De Sardet turns to him a little startled. She has lowered her arm to put on her ring in a smooth, fast movement and for a moment Kurt really has to fight the urge to shield himself. He has seen enough of her magic to know it’s fast, it’s rash and it’s painful.

Before he can speak, though, her tension fades completely. Kurt could get used to having that effect on someone. Mercenaries like him don’t get that often. For some reason, it warms his heart. Luckily, she can’t see his instant smile in the dark. Or so he hopes.

—Did I wake you again? —she mutters, her voice frustrated. —I’m sorry, Kurt.

—I have sensitive ears. —he answers. —Trained by years and years of waking up to find you or your cousin sneaking out of bed to steal biscuits.

She laughs sincerely.

—And I thought here in Teer Fradee I’d be free of Constantin’s reputation. —that makes him snort, he gives her that much.

—Don’t worry, Greenblood, you have your own.

An easy silence falls between them. It’s been so long they are more than used to them by now: it’s not uncomfortable, it just is, easy and calm, warm, even.

She sighs. That confirms it, that tension that’s still in her voice.

—I’m so sorry, Kurt. —she says then. —Go back to sleep. I’ll be more careful next time, I’ll separate my tent.

When he steps closer, though, she moves automatically, making room for him to sit next to her facing the cliff. So he does.

—You don’t have to do that.

Her eyes shine against the moonlight, so faint he can’t even picture the colour. Not that he needs to, he can recall every inch of those irises in his mind whenever he pleases. He can see she gazes at him for a moment.

—It’s not your fault that I can’t sleep, is it? —she points it out too harshly. That rudeness towards herself is not usual.

—It’s not your fault that you can’t sleep either and no one should be left to deal with that alone.

He rather not wake up to his nightmares. He rather not feel again the pain, the endless pain of his heart during his recruitment, the fire the scars carry through his whole body during the dreams, the new ways people dear to him in his current life find to make him suffer more, so much he can't look them in the eye the next morning. He rather spend his whole life not having a good dream again than live just another one of those nightmares that haunt him from time to time where he is the one to use the very same weapon he carries to torture others as they tortured him. Recruits, new, defenceless kids like Rainier, dying by his hands, just like Rainier did.

—Sounds like you know what you are talking about. —she says very softly like she doesn’t wish to disturb the quietness of the night.

He would love to let all that go out loud but, most of all, he will never let his problems burden anyone else. De Sardet less than anyone.

—I do, yes. —he sums up. There he hesitates. —Is everything alright?

Well, it’s the seventh time in two weeks he asks that. It’s not like he’s actually expecting a proper answer this time, but he wants her to know the offer is still there, he guesses. Yeah, it’s clear by now she is not using _him_ of all people to talk about what’s wrong, but then there it is. She turns to look at him and there is something so warm in those eyes when they meet him it’s easy to forget the first part. He doesn’t even wonder why that contradiction is there. It just makes his heart thrill when the eyes seem to smile to themselves looking at him in that tender way.

—Thee, what? —he calls softly. It makes her react, sigh again and rub her face a bit too harshly. —Constantin?

Her guard down, she looks surprised for a split second, which makes him strangely proud. It’s not that often that you find the Legate of the Congregation, Lady Theodre De Sardet, Greenblood caught off guard. This sleepless nights must be taking their toll on her.

Anyway, she recovers fast enough and simply nods. With a sigh, her gaze loses in the stars in front of them.

—Of course it’s Constantin, I... I am watching him die and I can’t even be there for him because I’m too busy looking for the fucking impossible!

The outburst is gone as fast as it came and all that remains of it is De Sardet’s heavy breathing, her face buried in her hands with anger. Kurt is now the surprised one.

—Wait, Greenblood, slow down, okay? You still hope because surrender is unacceptable. Constantin is not going to die. And what we’re looking for is not impossible.

—Kurt, he’d be the first one ever to survive the malichor! —she replies, turning towards him not as angry as devastated, but he doesn’t even blink.

—That’s why we are looking for a cure.

It is not exactly that he didn’t know that Thee cares a bit too deeply for certain things, but he is not used yet to seeing her so deeply wounded. Not that much time ago, she was practically a teenager. A teenager with the same blood through her veins, she has always been.. her, but the pressure on her shoulders has never been like this. It’s not that it’s surprising to find that she’s still human, but vulnerable. And actually hurting, even now, despite the film resolve she always wears.

—I can’t shake off the nightmares. He, Constantin already looks like a bloody corpse, Kurt, I... I can’t get the thoughts of my mother... She never showed me any pain. Constantin can’t even walk anymore! How much did she endure before finally dying? How much she hid from me? And I left her there to die alone!

She hides her face in her hands again with a shaky sigh. Kurt doesn’t flinch. She needs space, but she needs company as well, he realizes that much. He sure as hell can accompany her. She finally goes on, her voice muffled.

—He’s the only family I have here. —Thee raises her eyes towards his for a second. —The only true family I have, actually, as far as I’m aware. I can’t... I can’t afford to lose him.

—Is that what’s been keeping you from sleeping? —he sighs faintly. Damn dreams. If only he could take her nightmares and add them to his own, he would. Unfortunately doesn’t seem like Teer Fradee holds the key to that.

—The blood, the black blood the doctor had when we got there. It starts radiating from him like waves while he yells in so much pain it’s deafening. It... I lack the words to describe it, but the feeling as it touches my skin, like the same sickness killing him was also part of him begging me to help him and I can’t do anything. It lingers when I’m awake, like his screams. It’s just... —shaking her head, she cuts. —I’m so tired.

It’s weird, because they’ve known each other for so long they’re close friends and, at the same time, colleagues, at most. It shouldn’t happen. He shouldn’t feel that urge or, even if he did, he should have a damn brain that would prevent him from doing anything about it to the very least. He should repress it. He has always managed to do so.

But he has never been this close to her before Teer Fradee, so it happens. Kurt caresses her cheek without a second thought. He cleans the path of tears she has been unable to hide.

It lasts a moment, maybe less. She tenses, surprised, and he finally comes back to his senses.

—Kurt, I... —she mutters. Well, it’s not every day that you see De Sardet at a loss either, but that only makes things far worse. He removes his hand so fast it could break the sound barrier. The clouds that hide the moonlight decide that’s the best moment to move away. Under the new light, everything looks different. More real, which is worse.

De Sardet doesn’t move, she stares at him instead. He cannot see the look of sharp pain on his own face, like he just touched the forbidden fire and now he panics not to feel that sensation ever again, to not be allowed to even watch the fire as it lights up someone else, someone luckier.

—Sorry —he mutters, his fists clenched near himself. He stands up practically jumping in panic. —I overstepped, I shouldn’t...

Kurt doesn’t get to run away because De Sardet is suddenly in his way, her eyes locked on him.

—Don’t. Don’t panic, Kurt, don’t worry. It’s fine. You’re my friend. A dear friend. —those burning eyes. He has seen her use them to intimidate people countless times, she has that virtue, yet that fire could never burn him. They seem scared but decided. —Your touching could never upset me.

Everything looks so different at night under the firelight. It makes him brave, even. So he doesn’t run. And if it’d be the death of him, then let it be. Kurt breathes in deeply.

—Alright. Sorry.

—Don’t be. —she then fidgets before gathering enough courage to say: —Would you mind terribly hugging me? I could use that tonight.

Definitely braver. Perhaps he’s a night person. All these wasted years using the night to sleep instead of using that courage to, don’t know, perhaps tell a few nobles back in the continent how badly he wanted to punch them. Not like he had any problem doing so.

In any case, Kurt steps closer to her and, in an incredibly brave manoeuvre, he dares to touch her. He surrounds her with his arms and presses their bodies together as softly as he is able.

He tenses until De Sardet relaxes in his arms. It has the effect of a spell: her calm is contagious. She lets a brief hum of content that makes him chuckle.

—Kurt… —at the mention of his name, he moves to release her, but her arms around him make him stop. Actually, he freezes. De Sardet is hugging him back. That wasn’t part of the deal, was it? The anxiety threatens to eat him whole, but then De Sardet lays her forehead against his shoulder and that’s the end of all rational thought for him.

Well, he hadn’t expected her touch to be this gentle, this caring. This simple act of a companion shouldn’t elicit that warm feeling that spreads pleasantly throughout his body, yet it does.

—Yes? —he mutters. They’re so damn close she could whisper and she’ll hear it.

—Don’t tell the others about this, I prefer to be the cousin of the cookies thief.

Kurt throws his head back to let out a sincere laugh. Then he doesn’t waste any more time and returns to his previous position, his chin touching softly her orange hair.

—Anything you want, Greenblood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! It would definitely get more intense, don't worry. Feel free to comment :)  
> Also, probably you noticed, but I'm a non-native English speaker, so if you find out any mistakes and would like to let me know, please do! I'd appreciate it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The news land on them with the softness of the blow of a hammer.  
> People are slavering natives. People are torturing them into sex slavery. People are selling then to the continent where, no doubt, other people are purchasing them.  
> And to do all that, as if that wasn’t bad enough, people are using the ghost camp."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is important: I added the " **Past rape/Non con" & "Past Abuse" tags** because of this chapter. It's not much more explicit or hard than what Kurts actually says in the in-game dialogues (which is hard enough as it is), but I feel better knowing the warning is there.
> 
> One thing that's surprising me of this game is how deeply it distances itself from BioWare. This is much more European-like to the last consequences: the rape, the slavery, the torture, the massacre of indigenous people. It still surprises me a lot, I'm not sure whether for the best or for the worse. Probably both.  
> Anyway, this is settled right before destroying the ghost camp for the final (I hope??) time and right after the first chapter of this fic.

Maybe it’s a moon thing or something, or maybe it’s because all that happened last night, but the thing is Kurt can’t shake these thoughts off his head.

He had managed this far. Theodre was the Legate, her Excelency. That had been easier. It all had changed some years ago. Their relationship had shifted into something closer. Not that he liked to say it like that at all, because it sounded wrong, but he lacked any better term. So, _closer_ it was then. He had managed to avoid thinking about it too much, but Teer Fradee had put everything upside down. Even his own memories from his youth, things he was convinced he had left behind. He had managed to pretend well enough, though. Until last night. Last night, heavy thoughts and feelings he was unsure how to treat had smashed him in the face too hard.

Is it required that they talk about it? They have never brought up the topic. Not even when Theodre and Constantin enrolled on this expedition and Kurt told them he would be coming along. The look of surprise on De Sardet’s face still makes him smirk. But no, they had not talked about it, about how from that moment on he stopped being her childhood guardian to become... one of them. The change _was_ there. The coup d’état just brought it back to the surface so obviously it could no longer be dodged.

He groans when his eyes land on the mirror. This must be a joke. Theodre has an especially poor taste at jokes.

—What? —she asks, the very voice of innocence, from upstairs. Kurt glares at the stairs.

—You’re making me wear the Alliance’s colors!

Vasco and Aphra can’t hide their laughter anymore. Síora frowns, trying her best to understand the meaning of the discussion, while Petrus is busy regaining his composure, knowing he’d have reacted the same way. It’s not that Kurt forgets he _is_ a mercenary, but, well... It’s awkward. He never liked that much those scientists and their lack of humanity. No more than the bigots from Thelème.

—It’s a fine armour, Kurt! The finest they were selling. No one will notice that while we fight them, don’t worry —comes De Sardet’s voice, still nowhere to be seen. Kurt turns his glare to the rest of the team before scowling at his own reflection. —And besides...

—Besides? —he sighs. He fails to notice the steps on top of the stairs because of that.

—The colors suit you. —follows her warm voice. —They lighten up your eyes.

The silence falls on the room as Kurt turns, but he becomes too fascinated to notice. Theodre also changed her clothes: she now wears a black, comfy armour that protects her while allows her to dodge and kick with her ring without getting in her way. This is much lighter than the armour she usually wears in the wild, where the smash of an animal could break too many ribs for her to cast any more spells. At the same time, she wears now the cape with the colors of the Congregation. a bright blue that makes her eyes shine more fiercely.

De Sardet snorts under his gaze. Wait, he has been staring _all_ this time? He blushes, he is certain, as he clears his throat.

—Sorry, excelency. You’ve been carrying an armour for so long I... Sorry.

She raises an eyebrow at the 'excelency', what happened to ‘Greenblood’?

—Should I change? —she mocks, but damn it, he can’t find his words anymore, so he focus on tightening his clothes instead. Thanks to someone, Síora asks aloud why the colours matter so much to a mercenary and Aphra is happy to start a discussion with Petrus about the many, many differences between the two nations’ emblems.

Undisturbed by the political argument that was supposed to be a mere explanation, Vasco gets to De Sardet and shakes her cape like a flag. The movement makes him snort.

—We won’t be able to spy on anyone if you wear that. That golden badge shines even at night.

—But I must wear the Congregation symbols. —Theodre protests— Probably the only thing that’d prevent the pious brothers and sisters from Thélème from killing us on sight.

She’s not the prettiest girl, her cheeks too piercing, her eyes perhaps too big, her brow stern. But damn, there’s that light in her ferocity that blinds him. And he should _not_ find this hard to get his eyes off her.

There they are, these damn thoughts. Unable to smash his head against a wall, Kurt slips away to breathe fresh air, far from the familiar scene inside the house that’s only making the strange thoughts speak louder.

The day has barely begun and he can no longer wait for it to be over.

~

The news land on them with the softness of the blow of a hammer.

People are slavering natives. People are torturing them into sex slavery. People are selling then to the continent where, no doubt, other people are _purchasing_ them. No longer satisfied with smuggling just _some_ , people have tried to rob an entire ship, putting the three cities of Teer Fradee and their fragile tolerance on risk of another (and much easier) coup d’état now that the Coin Guard could never coordinate on time to stop something that big.

And to do all that, as if _that_ wasn’t bad enough, people are using the ghost camp.

Maybe (probably) it’s just because how close they physically stand to one another (since when have they been this close?), but Theodre can actually _feel_ the air tensing in the direction Kurt is.

Kurt doesn’t say a word as the team discusses the new task. Neither does Vasco, who vanishes skillfully as soon as they step out of the quarters. Kurt doesn’t make up any lame excuse to vanish as well, not even when Theodre suggests to postpone the quest until the following day. It’s going to get dark, after all, it’s better if they go there well prepared, and besides, they’ll probably need another day of travel, and when she gets to that point she stops. The pause takes Kurt longer to notice than it should.

—Do you need to talk? —she says softly. That takes him back to earth. That crashes him against the dust, more precisely.

—I don’t, Greenblood, I need that camp shot down for good and the ones who did this in the gallows.

—We will get to that, but, in the meantime... —she leaves the sentence unfinished, hanging in the air. Kurt discovers suddenly it’s too much even with the words unspoken.

—I’m fine, Greenblood. I’m going to take some air. See you tomorrow.

He walks away fast. Before Theodre can come up with a conclusion about it, she notices Síora standing by her side. Poor Síora. She looks so conflicted it makes her want to hug her. Luckily, her years pretending to be part of the court allow her to easily repress the thought.

— _Car_... _On ol menawi_ , do you mind if I ask you something?

Okay, that change of term hurts, but Theodre cannot blame her. She is horrified and yet she is part of the culture that allows things like these to happen. Of the nobility unable to put a stop to it. Síora is the child who could have never imagined something this bad before it hit her right in her eyes.

—You know I don’t, Síora.

But, against her will, her eyes gaze at the back of Kurt, who is now barely visible in the distance. Síora notices, of course she does.

—Am I interrupting something?

—No, it’s okay. You just... You deserve answers.

Síora frowns as if she doubted all she thinks she knows about the _renaigse_.

—Nothing could explain this, _Carants_. —she aims for sadness. That’s the worst part of it. Síora is not angry, not with them, _renaigse_ as well, she is just sorry they are the same. Somewhere deep them, they still are the same as those slavers; despite everything, they are closer to those people than to natives. It makes Theodre’s heart ache.

—No, it couldn’t.

~

The moon barely shines tonight, as if she has decided they’re no longer worth it. She would be right.

Whoa, she is bloomy, isn’t she.

Theodre walks down the empty paths. It would not be the first time, nor the last, bandits try to take advantage of the lonely person in the dark roads, but she has two privileges: the blood everybody thinks runs in her veins and the strength the ring gives her. She knows she could take almost any human down easily in a fight. Even distracted as she is. And she is certainly not hoping to find a _doneigad_ in the middle of the vast fields of Teer Fradee with nothing best to do than attack an _on ol menawi_. Well, alright, she has three privileges.

She notices then the movement behind a tree to her left. She frowns, her skin vibrating at the touch of the ring in anticipation, but before she can react, the silhouette jumps out of the tree to tackle her.

She steps back fast. Luckily, she was taught how to use her lightness against matches like this one; she jumps to the right and readies the ring again when she realizes why this exact fight is so damn familiar.

—Kurt, we’re going to need a safe word at this rate —she yells to stop his charge short.

It works; he freezes at the moment, his stillness quickly followed by a brief laugh.

—We do, don’t we? —Kurt sighs and scratches his hair uncomfortably. He, of course, is no longer wearing his hat. She loves the way he cuts his hair, but perhaps that is not the best thing to focus on _now_. —Sorry, Greenblood, you surprised me.

—I attacked first. Or at least I intended to —she amends. She gestures to the camp, long past them. —Trouble sleeping?

—Something like that. —a heavy sigh ends the sentence. Theodre looks at the faint silhouette in front of her, the heaviness of the shoulders, the clumsiness in those arms.

—Do you need... Do you _want_ to talk, Kurt? —she suggests. No, that won’t do, he’d misread it as... obligation. —I’d love to listen.

Any other day, he would have easily turned the offer down. The whole “not–burden–anyone–with–your–shit–and–get–it–all–together–already” thing.

It’s not any day.

—Sure —he accepts with a trembling voice. Damn it, where did his night courage go? He could bloody use it. He believes he sees a warm smile spreading on her features, but that must be his thoughts praying not to be repressed again. They yell too loud anyway.

They walk slowly in the plains, going west to trace a circle around the camp just to not get back yet.

—What a week, uh —she says softly. Well, yes, but he does not envy how this whole trip has turned for her, not even the slightest.

—What a month, if you ask me. —it makes her chuckle. That alone quiets a little the uncomfortable whisper on his ears he can’t suppress since yesterday.

—What a month.

They walk together in silence. It’s comfortable, it’s warm. There’s no trace of that urge to fill the air with anything silly other people have. Not between them. So he doesn’t understand at all why he starts to talk with words he didn’t know he was holding.

—It’s not that the crudeness of the world can surprise me any longer, I’ve seen and lived my own fair of its cruelty, but then one day it still manages to surprise you. And all you can think of is “whoa. Whoa... So it could get worse after all”.

—Yeah. —her voice is so soft it’s hard to hear between the small cracks of their feet in the earth, but he doesn’t wish for her to speak louder. There’s something magical in the way her voice is just like that, something warm that spreads through the night with enough force to reach to him and suffocate the memory of someone whispering in his ears. —Yeah. Maybe it’s because now we’ve seen it first hand, maybe it’s because we are one of the very few people that bother to listen to the natives they’re so busy annihilating, maybe it’s because we’re much alone here than we were in the continent, but... yeah. It could get much worse.

—And the cherry on the cake... —he snorts humourlessly. He can’t believe it. It’s been thirty hours since he heard the news and he can’t still process it. —The ghost camp. Once again.

He stops short. The rage cames out from a place he had failed to acknowledge for years.

—We dismantled it! —he yells. —How can it be that it’s used again? The nightmare we dismantled is still in fucking use! I can’t... I can’t... get over it. They– We cleaned it! Damn it, it should be over! It was over when he was set in flames and it was definitely over when we left the continent, why does it keep hunting me like–?!

He breaths in a shaky sigh. The rage doesn’t fade, it just transforms into something darker. Something that doesn't numb him, this fuels him and so Kurt welcomes it without a secomd thought.

—I told you he used to visit us at night, didn’t I? I was one of his favorites, did I tell you that? He liked the resistance. The struggling.

—Kurt, you don’t h... —she says, but this time that soft voice doesn’t do its miracle. It doesn’t feel like a caress to his core, he doesn’t even hear it. There’s so much yelling and whispering in his ears for that, words too old to affect him now, and yet they never quiet. So Kurt speaks louder.

—He liked the spirit! He complimented on it! Can you believe it, Thee? He was so convinced of his righteousness. Part of him thought he was doing the right thing while I tried to kick him off me night after night after...!

The hug, however, takes up the baton of the miracle business. Kurt doesn’t understand at first why he’s being surrounded so gently, so weakly he could break free if he felt like it without a doubt because Theodre uses only one arm to leave room for him to escape, had he wanted to. Which is a thought that never crosses his mind.

Theodre releases him while he is just beginning to process everything that just happened. Has he just yelled at the damn _legate_? Kurt turns towards her with an apology that dies in his lips when he sees the sorry smiles she bears. _I_ _really wish it hadn’t turned out this way. I really wish I could spare you that. I can’t and I’m sorry for it_.

—I’m fine, Thee —he mutters, so ashamed he would love to spend the rest of the night swimming towards the continent.

—You would have every right not to be, if you weren’t —she points out. Kurt doesn’t know what to answer, but his weary sigh seems to be enough.

She rubs one of her clear eyes. Damn, it must be very late. How long have they spent just circling the camp in silence?

—I’m sorry. —he starts, although her glare makes him stop short.

—Don’t you dare to be, Kurt. It’s alright. Thanks, thanks for sharing that with me. I hope it helped.

It feels like nothing will ever help, tonight, but the thought doesn’t hurt so badly. So maybe it did. He smiles faintly and Theodre gestures towards the camp.

—Maybe it’s about time we hit the bed.

To her surprise, he shakes his head automatically. Even with that little, his movements are weary.

—I can’t sleep. I’ll go take another walk.

—Kurt, you’re exhausted, you should rest. —Theodre insists with concern in her soft voice.

His eyes try to tell her. That, every single time he closes his eyes, he feels the sheets around him tightening, trying to strangle him, to prevent his struggle, just so he can have better access to all of him, and he will open his eyes in the end, just to know where the next blow comes from, and when he does, any moment now, he’ll find his eyes already locked on him, shining in anticipation. And he just can’t get through that now.

—I can’t, Thee. —he shakes his head wearily. Sadly. —I just can’t.

—Sleep with me.

It comes out so fast it doesn’t even startle him, even if his brain is too exhausted to find any meaning beyond the vague notion that she just made some sort of mistake. Which one, he would not dare to think about.

His eyes manage to tell her this, for the looks of it, as Theodre opens her eyes before laughing.

—No, I mean... together, that’s all. The company usually helps to ease the nightmares. Bring your bed to my tent.

—Thee, are you nuts? —he snorts, he actually bloody snorts just at the thought of that suggestion. —That’s the most distant notion from “appropriate” I can think of, you know.

Her eyes shine furiously at that, even under the faint moonlight.

—I am a Legate that spends most of her time roaming around the fields of the island fighting whatever tries to fight me back to help natives not to be slaughtered by “my” people and, at the same time, find the way to reach a god that, in an incredible turn of events, could actually hold the key of the cure for a sickness that is killing the people that slaughtered my biological mother and used me to their profit in an elaborated joke I still don’t find funny. Do I look like I care?

He is so exhausted his brain is not making connections properly, that has to be it, because suddenly this whole crazy idea doesn’t sound as horrifying as it did when it first came out of Theodre’s mouth. Kurt snorts once more.

—You had that line prepared?

—Yes, I’ve been wanting to ask you to join my tent in a desperate effort to calm both our nightmares from some time now —she teases back.

A new silence falls between them. Kurt can’t get his eyes off her, but he hopes she doesn’t notice in the dark embrace of the night. A good night of sleep. A good, warm, entire night of sleep. No nightmares. He sleeps better accompanied, that much is true, and to know that there’d be someone to wake him up if the dreams still got him...

Theodre’s voice floats in the air slowly, steadily, temptingly.

—Either you come to sleep at my tent, or you go back to yours, I don’t care, but you have to rest. Otherwise, I’ll send you back home first thing tomorrow. Kurt, in the state you’re in you won’t be able to help much tomorrow.

—I have to be there when we finish this once and for all, Thee.

—Then you have to pick an option. And I owe you.

It takes a moment for him to understand what she means. Then, he frowns.

—Thee, I need no retribution for hugging you.

—Well, I lack the strength to discuss that now, but my offer is still there. —she doesn’t bloody hesitate when she adds—: And I’d love the company. This is not pity, remember? I have my own nightmares to take care of. I’m just... profiting from this.

Years and years and _years_ by her side have granted him the ability to know when he’s lost to one of her tricks. And this one time, he surrenders easily.

—Yes, you sure are. I’ll move back to my tent before anyone else wakes up, I promise, I’m...

She shakes her head before he can finish, a happy half smile on her lips.

—Kurt: you don’t have to. Let them gossip if they feel like it. So: shall we go to sleep?

The nights, the courage, the braver thing. He’ll have to study these effects properly. Or go see a doctor fast. Anyway, he simply nods, his voice lost to the excitement and the concern that blend within him, and follows her steps.

He sleeps the night with the vague memory of a warm dream, thanks to a warm touch next to his body, to greet him the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another night chat, though the topic discussed keeps getting harder. These dorks need some talking to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another night chat. The pinning is pretty intense in this one (tag added) and... y'all gonna like next chapter. Also, I just finished the game and my heart is still torn into pieces, so I'll probably update faster because apparently writing is my way to cope.  
> Anyway, this chapter takes place when meeting Catasach and Petrus' confession and right after the previous ones.

Theodre is in love with the island. That’s going to be the topic tonight, for the looks of it.

In fact, coming from the old continent, the fresh air, the forest, the wilderness here is such a change pretty much anyone would like the scenery. But there is more to it than just her nobility roots fancying the trip to the countryside.

It all started when they finally got to Frasoneigad, “the forest of the elders”, and Theodre just sighed deeply. She’s not usually speechless, so Aphra raised a questioning eyebrow. Theodre said simply:

—This... My god.

—Everything alright? —immune to Vasco’s mocking tone, Theodre just nodded. The sight of the landscape was enough to make her immune to jokes for a second.

—This is gorgeous.

Soon after, they finally found the famous Catasach. The job got more complicated afterwards: the discussion with him, checking the errands he needed to be done, gathering information about the missing couple. The topic about Theodre’s love for the green had been forgotten until the night, after dinner, when they usually gathered together around the campfire and then Aphra wonders out loud:

—Do you think your blood has something to do with the way you look at everything?

Petrus chokes.

It is so loud no other sound comes from them for a while, the entire squad too busy staring at his obvious mortification. They even forget for a second what Aphra was actually proposing. Aphra grins, probably really proud she has been able to catch Petrus off guard like this. You don’t get to see Petrus coughing and fighting to breathe just because you imply your leader is not as noble as she was thought to be.

—What did you say, Aphra? “The way she looks at everything” —repeats Vasco, clearly bemused. —That’s one way to put it.

—What? How do I do that? —De Sardet looks genuinely surprised, which helps the others to mock her further.

—Come on, De Sardet, you look at the trees and the mountains as if it was the first time you saw them. —Aphra gestures to the surrounding trees to prove her point. — _Every_ time.

—She is _on ol menawi_ —supplies Síora. —Of course it is her blood. It knows.

—No, it’s not like that —Theodre herself retorts after a soft laugh. Well, it hasn’t been easier for her, and she still avoids idly chatting with Petrus like they used to do, but she is recovering from the blow of finding out about her family, by the looks of it. Kurt feels a rush of intense relief washing over him but is careful not to let it show. —I mean, I like it here, sure. But it cannot be just _my_ thing. This island is vast and wild! No roads, no buildings, no civilization!

Now it is Kurt’s turn to chuckle. He raises his glass to gesture towards her.

—You’re the only diplomat I know who could say that in a good way, Greenblood.

—I’m much likely the one diplomate you know. —she flashes him a smile. —That may explain it.

—Careful whom you may offend, child —scoffs Petrus, whose speech has come back now that he’s not the one on the spot. Theodre accepts the correction with another smile, weaker this one, Kurt can’t help to notice.

—I mean, there’s bound to be fewer problems to deal with. Or that’s what I thought when I signed in.

—So you’re not a good gambler, uh? Good to know —Vasco grins now raising his own vase. Aphra makes a toast with him.

—Well, I’m going to bed down already before you start trying to gather a sample of her blood and I’m forced to choose a side. —Kurt finishes his vase and stands. —Have fun and don’t make a fuss.

De Sardet hesitates for a second.

—Actually, Kurt, do you mind taking a walk around with me?

So she’s noticed. Damn.

Of course, she’s just too brave to let this grow until it explodes. And, of course, he’s too insecure to address it directly. He turns back around considering his answer. And, much to everyone’s surprise, he’s about to decline her offer, as can be read in his expression, an apologetic look on his usually stern eyes. De Sardet is simply faster when she adds:

—There’s something I have to discuss with you.

Kurt fidgets. He doesn’t want this to be witnessed by everyone, even if Aphra looks busy explaining Síora how could blood be analyzed, Petrus is preparing his speech about the many ways that contradict the Enlightened teachings and Vasco is staring at all of them with curiosity. He knows them better. He knows there _will_ be further consequences for this than the ones his damn brain will supply during the night, but he still holds his ground as he says:

—Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’m exhausted, Greenblood.

Her eyes can be stone cold when she wills them to be. She does, now. Her walls build back in the blink of an eye. If she’s surprised, disappointed or angry, nothing at all reflects in her clear gaze, that looks at him maybe for a little too long.

—Yes, I guess it can.

~

The tension between them does not cease to increase from that moment on. The next day is long and exhausting: they have to search for the missing couple, as well as finishing other errands for the _Yígaíg srodí_ , Catasach’s clan, all for the faint hope that the knowledge of this man can ease some of the pain killing Constantin. Kurt is not optimistic about that matter. Well, neither is De Sardet, but she is desperate. She has to buy Constantin more time. Kurt knows the feeling. Damn, he’s been with that brat for as much time as he’s been around Theodre. That hits too close to home, even if they’re running out of time or ideas. They’ll fight for the last hope no matter what it takes.

Kurt is busy trying not to spend time alone with Theodre, perhaps too busy. It surprises him when they decide to set the camp, but a look to the sunset makes it obvious: yes, he’s been too lost in his thoughts to notice the passing time. Another day has gone by.

They’ve finished almost all errands for Catasach, only the missing teens are yet to be found. The squad prepares the tents and the dinner as he busies himself taking sharpening his blade and checking everyone’s weapons, he’s the professional, after all.

They’re planning their next step after getting Catasach’s aid. Kurt barely listens to their conversation, but then he catches some words, the way De Sardet says them, with hesitation and utter caution. Her _mother_. Her _family_. Her _origins_. It’s been only five days since Petrus confessed all he knew, but it looks like Theodre has made up her mind. She wants to locate her family (if something is left to be found) and they’re going to start asking the Nauts. Not a bad bet.

—So then it’ll be Petrus and me. We’ll ask the Admiral as soon as Catasach checks on Constantin —she sighs briefly. She’s doing that lately: she’s not that afraid to show them her doubts or her weariness. She only lowered her guard in front of Constantin or him, so it relieves Kurt to see she’s feeling more and more confident around the group.

Maybe it’s because he’s too busy analyzing that without realizing he’s staring that De Sardet’s words catch him completely off guard:

—Kurt, would you mind coming with us?

Kurt forgets the item he’s holding. It doesn’t fall on the ground because it’s resting against his knees, but his hand drops it without a second thought. That’s the only sign of the inner panic that’s eating him whole. Externally, he merely frowns.

—To find about your mother? Maybe Vasco would better suit the team, he’s a Naut after all...

This time, there’s no wall thick enough to hide the hurt in her eyes. She flinches slightly as physically wounded, even.

—I’m asking you. —she mutters. Kurt forgets his resolve at the sight of those eyes, naked, staring at him for a moment too long, begging him to come back to where he used to be. By her side, that is.

But the spell breaks. Theodre mutters something he’s too astonished to grasp before leaving the campsite at a quick pace. She needs space, and, well, if she’s out there, he doesn’t need to actually avoid her, but it makes his insides ache all the same.

The rest of the team doesn’t get it, how could they? An awkward silence falls around them. Kurt focuses intently on the weapon. At a slow pace, conversation resumes where it was left. It’s stiff at first, but the chatter grows more natural by the second. It’s not until the firelight is blocked that Kurt realizes that it’s not going to be that easy because Vasco is standing next to him.

—Do you need help with something? —the question seems straightforward, but Vasco does not look at the weapons for a second. He stares at him. He’s not offering his help... well, maybe he is, but not only with this matter. He’s also dead serious. He’s saying “if you need help sorting something out, count on me, but cut it out already”.

—It’s fine, Naut. —he asserts in hopes of calming Vasco. It has the opposite effect: the younger man narrows his eyes and speaks in a low tone so the others won’t hear it:

—Kurt, whatever it is you’re hoping to accomplish with this, it isn’t working. The tension here is going to suffocate all of us. Theodre can’t deal with secrecy and such, you know that. She can’t especially when it comes from her dear friend and oldest companion, you know. Whatever it is going on, sort it out, and talk to her.

Kurt can’t hide his grimace. He hesitates because he’d love to shrug it off, but he also can’t bear this weight any longer. Perhaps smashing against Theodre’s walls is making his crumble.

—She has enough problems as it is.

—Why do you think you’re a problem for her? —Vasco seems to realize something suddenly. He opens his eyes widely.

—What? —he grunts. Vasco hesitates. Okay, seeing the Naut choosing his words this carefully is worrisome.

—Have you seen the way she looks at you?

After a meaningful stare and apparently determined to get to his nerves, Vasco turns around to get back to the fire. Kurt mutters then:

—It’s not that simple, Vasco.

He hears it all the same. Vasco looks at him from over his shoulder, a look of sympathy on his gaze, but he says bluntly:

—Make it be.

~

It takes all his strength, but he manages to decrease the tension between them the following day. He’s still far from the close friend he acted like some nights ago, but he’s not her ice–cold, professional bodyguard any longer. It could have eased the atmosphere in the team had it not been for the tragic outcome of the disappearances.

The gloomy mood that settles doesn’t leave even at nightfall. Tonight, no one wants to gather around the campfire. They eat exchanging few words and they retire to bed as early as they can. No chat interrupts the stillness of the night.

Until a muffled sound that breaks through the fabric of the tent. Kurt opens his eyes and stares into the darkness, his sharp eyes registering the tiniest change of the sound. It sounds now more like a gasp, then ragged breathing. He starts to consider the course of action before a dulled grunt announces the opening of one of the tents. Footsteps walk away from the campsite.

He is exhausted. This dance around Theodre is exhausting: this war of his between rushing to her side and distancing is killing him and the longer he goes with it, the harder it gets, and all he wishes is to sink back to the sleepless, restless dream he was in. Yet he stands up and leaves the tent.

He just wants to take a walk to clear his head, but, in the distance, there is a silhouette he dreams of too often. His brain cells beg for his feet to walk away, but he is not surprised to find he’s by her side in a minute.

Theodre acknowledges him with a weak gesture of her head, with caution, even. She was not cautious around him before. Has he screwed up this much? She is staring at the distant lights of the village, one hand playing with the grass.

—These poor youngsters... Their story is really sad.

—It is. —he sighs softly. —I hate these social rules, you know? Compromises, protocol, that stuff of faking and pretending. I can’t see the point.

Theodre looks at him, an eyebrow raised, and talks slowly, carefully. Perhaps she’s worried she’ll scare him again.

—You know how to play that game fairly well. You always give good advice since we got there. —that makes him snort. To think a Legate would compliment him… He sure is no longer the mercenary he’s desperately trying to portray.

—I’ve lived among them since I met your family, Greenblood, I had to learn. That’s why I can say I hate them. I know the rules and I don’t like them a bit.

He catches sight of a quick smile.

—Me neither. —she admits. Kurt throws his head back to let go of a stern laugh.

—You’re a diplomate, Thee. A legate. _The_ legate.

That makes her smile fiercely. He had thought this war of him had been excruciating. At the sight of that smile, he realizes there never was a war to start with. There were never two options. He could never stop coming back to that smile, aimed to him, caused by him, directed only to his eyes.

—Well, yes, but as you may have noticed, I tend to do things that are a bit... off my legate obligations.

Kurt snorts as he loses his sight on the starred sky.

—That you do.

The same, easy silence falls between them. He’s missed that too. He’s missed the familiarity.

—You’re doing that again. —she says then. Kurt looks at her through the corner of his eye.

—Doing what?

—Calling me Thee. No one ever used that nickname, did you know? It’s all yours.

Thanks for the moonless nights of Teer Fradee. Under another phase, he could not even _hope_ that she couldn’t see the way he blushes, almost violently.

 _It’s all yours_. The phrasing resonates in his ears the way angelic echoes do, but this was a bloody conversation and he can’t just use the silence to replay this in his mind over and over.

—I’ve missed you. —she goes on. She is determined to end him tonight. Kurt breathes in shakily.

—I’m here.

“You are now, but you weren’t”, her aching gaze screams. She sighs.

—What’s going on? —she basically begs. Kurt counterattacks without a second thought, which comes too late.

—I could ask you the same thing. —they stare into each other’s eyes. Thee lets him elaborate. —You keep changing the topic when it comes to your blood, the natives, the cure for the malichor.

—Then do. —she’s not even defiant, she’s just… miserable, maybe. —I’d tell you. I can’t stand myself lately, you know. All this failure. Feels like dirt attached to my skin way too deep to be removed anymore.

He’s not breathing. Until this precise moment, he wasn’t aware physical distance could ever hurt. Not when you’ve tasted the closeness twice. There’s been no time to grow used to it. Well, it does: it does, and right now his skin aches for the contact, for any way to convey his feelings that is not through clumsy, meagre words.

—Thee. —he whispers. —You are not disgusting, how could you be? Why would you say that?

—Because everything goes wrong now! Wherever we go, things keep getting worse. And not only because Thélème and Hikmet seem determined to prove the natives they were right about us. Constantin gets the malichor. Petrus hides he knew my mother. He _loved_ my mother, judging by how devastated he looks when he mentions her. We arrive too late to save these poor kids from those bigoted missionaries. And...

That glance at him makes Kurt’s blood run cold. He could dodge that question lingering in the air easily and it’d make things much easier for them. Both of them. But the moonlight acts again on him.

—And? —he dares to ask.

—Tell me —she demands quietly. He could never turn a deaf ear to that softest voice she’s using. What willpower could be left in him dies quickly at the sight of those pleading eyes. As if this (whatever “this” is) _really_ mattered. As if the thought of losing the closeness hurt so deeply it’s unbearable to her.

—Tell you what?

—Why is it that you’re avoiding me. Because it’s weird. —she gestures at the night around them. —I thought you were angry with me. I was convinced something was terribly wrong for you to avoid me like that. You try to spend less and less time with me. But then, at night, when I’m at my worst, I can’t sleep, I feel miserable, you come to my side. Whenever I’m really bad, you’re there. You came to sleep with me that night, and now…

He stands up as if he was just struck by lightning.

—You invited… I’m sorry if–

But a simple gesture makes his panic fade. Theodre dares to touch his hand, only for a split second, enough to reassure him. His eyes dare to look at her again. Theodre keeps that calm, sad expression.

—I’d invite you again if you wanted to, Kurt. —she speaks slowly and firmly, perhaps thinking other tone would scare her pray to death. —Alright? I just can’t understand why you’re like this now while, in the day, you… you’re far away. As far as you can get. It hurts, Kurt.

 _Now or never._ His brain yells from his ears so loud is deafening, blinding, even if he still sees her green gaze fixed at him. _Stand up, tell her it was a mistake, you’re her bloody bodyguard, you are bound to protect her and leave this now before it’s too late._

His traitor heart speaks too fast for his brain to stop it.

—I’m... I’m trying to protect you.

Alright, she still looks genuinely hurt, but at least that unexpected revelation changes that into astonishment for a fleeting moment.

—Against what? The unbearable danger of friendship?

Kurt paces around her, too panicked to stop. Theodre lets him be, no rush, no pressure other than the worry that’s coming off her in waves. Kurt stops suddenly.

—Getting too close to you would mean lowering my guard. And the Coin Guard, the things we have done, the coup, Egon. You’re now a target.

The phrasing doesn’t seem to please her, not by a chance. Kurt has to resist the urge to laugh at the way she glares at him. For a moment, both are nothing more than teenagers and Kurt has to convince her to come to the fight lessons and not to jump around the gardens _again_.

It all looked so complicated back then, but right now Kurt would give anything to get back to that moment when he hadn’t even _wished_ to touch that skin, to sleep near that scent.

—Alright. —Theodre raises a single finger in the air. —First of all: I’m not defenceless.

Now there’s no way he could fight the exasperated laugh that comes off him. He certainly didn’t want to punch her this hard when she was a teen. Not as far as he remembers.

—Theodre, I’m not saying that.

—It looks like it. —another finger— Second of all: you could consult me this. If you’re going to treat me like your boss, you do it properly.

—You’d refuse.

—Of course I would! —her hands fall down in anger, yet it doesn’t reach her voice, that sounds softer: —Is it because of the whole _on ol menawi_ thing?

Kurt had started pacing again, but he stops short at that to stare at her. His intensity makes her pause.

—How could you think that? —he grunts. Theodre barely blinks.

—I don’t think you idiot enough to think that changes anything, but...

The silence is too oppressive all of a sudden. Kurt barely breathes under her sad gaze.

—But?

—You’re surprising me lately. —she mutters. Kurt grunts, rubs his face with a grimace.

—Thee, it’s not that...

She’s moved closer. Hasn’t she? She’s barely an inch from him. The sudden realization crashes him and whatever he was about to say.

—Kurt —she urges softly to continue. —You’ve never been like this.

—You’ve never been in danger like you are now!

—So the closer we become, the further you want to get away from me to protect me? What kind of bodyguard reasoning is that?

 _I also fear my own self_. Words resonate inside his head so strong he fears she’ll hear them. _I fear how far this will get before it stops, before you realize, before you stop, because you will. And it’ll destroy me._

—You’re avoiding me to protect me. —she pushes further. —That means that either you’re plotting against me, which I know you aren’t and you proved you wouldn’t, or that you think you’re putting me in danger by being around me. But you thought it quite clumsily.

—It’s not... —he sighs deeply. —I realized it _late_.

Her stern eyes don’t even have the decency to blink. She has the prey in front of her eyes, dancing in a fruitless effort to evade her.

—When? —Bingo.

—Well, after the coup d’état, I...

—The _failed_ coup.

They stare at each other. If one of them breathed, the air –the _thin_ space that’s between them for air to be– would shatter.

—Theodre. —he says with a quiet warning in his voice. Theodre doesn’t stop.

—The one you told us about risking everything you had. That one.

Kurt steps back all of a sudden, so abruptly Theodre flinches in surprise. Her gaze, however, doesn’t leave him, he can feel it through his shirt, running through the skin of his back.

—Don’t put it that way.

—That’s the way it was. That’s the way you made it be, in fact.

—Stop it.

—That’s what’s troubling you? That you were close to betraying us?

—Of course it is!

He lacks the courage to turn around, that’s why her arm on his shoulder startles him. Theodre hesitates, but her blessed fingers remain in the same place.

—We’ve been growing closer ever since we came to Teer Fradee. That was just another step in the right direction.

He wishes to step away, convinced he doesn’t have any right to have her touch him. Maybe he’s luckier than he’s ever been in his whole life, but his resolve fades at the sight of her eyes, so close he could get lost in them so easily.

—I almost killed you, Thee. Don’t call it that.

She doesn’t speak, but her eyes don’t flinch. She’s said enough, apparently. And she’s right. It’s his turn. Kurt breathes in, not moving an inch, terrified Theodre will remove her hand from the place it’s still resting.

—I’m afraid of all that could happen if I’m not guarding you with all my strength. I’m terrified. And I’m neither capable of being a guarding dog if I’m busy being friends, nor the right person to. I was supposed to kill you two that day, Thee, I could have. Yeah, I realized late, but I did. It all started with that.

The following sequence will play forever in his mind from this moment on. He will stop breathing any moment now and it’ll still play over and over and he will never regret anything. It all was worth it.

Theodre lowers her hand but doesn’t leave room for him to mourn the loss. She intertwines her fingers with his, she raises both their hands, she approaches them to her lips and she kisses his knuckles as softly, as ghostly as she’s able. It lasts the fraction of a second, but she doesn’t disappear like a phantom of his mind, she doesn’t blink, she doesn’t hesitate. She lowers their hands while still looking at him square in the eye.

—No, Kurt. It all started with that, and with Rainier, and with the coup, and with Egon, and with Constantin’s malichor. We’ve been through a lot. We all have.

—Don’t… —his voice dies. Theodre waits patiently. He gathers his thoughts poorly. —I don’t know what else I could ask from you. Don’t pretend I’m being this stupid and you’re not mad.

Theodre chooses her next words with caution, that’s obvious, yet she still speaks with assurance.

—I don’t blame you for being afraid, I’m scared as well. I just... don’t think to distance ourselves is the answer. I think we make a good team together, you and I, I think of you as a dear friend. But if you don’t want that, I won’t force it on you.

She’s still not getting it. She’s usually really clever, how can she be so blind now? It’s not that he doesn’t want it, it’s that he fears to death the consequences. But he’s run out of forces. He can no longer push her away when she’s so close his lungs ache in her scent.

—How could I not want that? —he mutters. Theodre is so relieved no smile comes to her face. She sighs and carefully, with the clumsy movements of someone raised to fake and pretend in a court, hugs him again.

He could get used to this contact, damn it. Looks like some part of him already has, because there’s no other way two bodies fit like this after three scarce contacts through the years.

—Talk to me, Kurt, like you use to do, you know. We’re friends, Teer Fradee and its dangers will not destroy that.

 _Let’s hope Teer Fradee doesn’t destroy that as well_. He closes his eyes to quiet those words that threaten to eat him. _Let’s hope Teer Fradee destroys only what we have and not all we are._

 _It’s all yours_ , her voice asserts once more in his ears.

—Sorry, Thee. —as clumsily as she hugged him, he _dares_ to raise his hand and bury it in her hair. She hums her consent. —I’m back here.

—You better be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge steps are coming. De Sardet and Kurt need to sort some things out, but life always gets in the way. Especially when "life" means chasing a super native mage that holds the only answers you seek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, y'all: remember when I said you would like next chapter? It ended up being so long I had to split it in two parts. This is the first one. My comment still applies though. The next chapter is already written and I just need to add the last corrections, so it shouldn't take long. It takes place right after finding Catasach and while searching for Mev, the tierna harh cadachta (at least that's how I did it, I think).  
> I've also been unsecure about uploading it because of the whole BLM movement and there claims these days. I don't want to mask that. I believe we must take action, we must act however we can; but I also know some people, for whatever reason (health issues, surroundings, I don't care), can't afford to do that. We all need to pause, to step away from the world on fire around us, so this is my contribution to that part. I really hope you stay safe.

Síora finds it all quite entertaining. And illustrative.

She has known the _renaigse_ her whole life and her clan has fought them for much more time than that. She’s been part of the fight, she still wants her people free and she knows the _renaigse_ are not going to let that happen as long as they breathe. But her inner curiosity is irrepresible. She still strives to understand more. Travelling with De Sardet has been... illustrative since day one, but the developement of these last times is quite puzzling by itself.

Síora watches closely how everyone wakes up, late in the morning. That’s the pace once a week. One out of every seven days, they have spare time, no matter what (unless another coup rises, she guesses). The organization of the other six depends on the task at hand, but the rule of one is sacred. Even if It’s harder when they’re away, far from any city, they’re never too far from one of villages of natives: Aphra tends to spend her time there, hoping to absorb all the knowledge they can offer. As for Petrus, it depends on the village they’re in: he also loves to go to discuss... Síora isn’t sure he remembers the word correctly (“thíologí”, was it?), with the _doneigada_. Vasco, Kurt and Theodre are not so predictable, they change what they do from week to week. As for her, Síora usually prefers to spend time with her people: six out of every seven days among the _renaigse_ make her crave for a change of air, to get some distance from the constant fuss of being around _renaigse_ and use their tongue –they are still so frustratingly clumsy with her tongue. Although she appreciates the effort, the effort alone is sometimes not enough.

Today, she hopes she’ll be much more entertained here. At least, for the time being, it’s quite promising.

Theodre is pacing. Síora has tried to ask her, but she just dismisses it. She was already awake and pacing by the time Síora woke, which is quite early in the morning. Síora knows their kind by now: something that cannot be spoken of –Síora never truly understands why the secrecy– is worrying her. The interesting thing here is that these specific _renaigse_ tend to be not _renaigse_ at all for some matters. You can never know.

Vasco and Kurt get out of their tent with a unison yawn.

Both notice the strange mood Theodre is in. After all, she doesn’t acknowledge their presence at all, which is not that usual. Vasco does with a grin, while Kurt raises an eyebrow.

—Hi, Thee.

She barely smiles at them, too lost in her thoughts. Síora crosses her arms over her chest. This is getting interesting.

The men prepare their breakfast in peace. Spare days are, above all, peaceful. Síora likes to leave the camp after Aphra and Petrus just to witness these calm moments. It’s good to know _renaigse_ can be normal people as well.

They jump to their breakfast with small chatter that doesn’t pass on Theodre. Oddly enough, now she doesn’t look at either of them. Even though the previous days she couldn’t get her eyes off Kurt. What an interesting little talk they must have had last night.

—Theodre —Vasco calls her for the third time. It’s the first she notices, much to his amusement.

—What?

—We’ve been asking if you want to join us. —Kurt goes on heedless of Vasco’s snort. —Everything alright, Greenblood?

After another quick round of pacing around the remainder of the campfire, she sighs briefly.

—I’ve been thinking.

—Bad news for us all.

Theodre makes a face at Vasco’s remark just to prevent herself from hitting him with her hat. She throws it towards her tent instead.

—Come to any decissions? —Kurt asks with caution. Theodre nods.

—I may be at fault for... —her eyes look at him for a split second, filled with worry. —what we discussed last night.

Vasco doesn’t even move trying not to interrupt whatever is going on. He exchanges a look with Síora and she can’t help to smirk. They’re definitely going to have fun later. But later.

—Are you? —Kurt can’t help but scoff — How could that be?

Thee, on the other hand, is deadly serious. Kurt’s laugh doesn’t make her blink.

—I hesitated.

—When did you do that?

—The coup.

Without a word, Vasco grabs his breakfast and moves next to Síora to leave them some space. Síora doesn’t really listen to what he says to her and is pretty sure he doesn’t pay much more attention to her answer, but the goal here is to _pretend_ they’re not listening.

Theodre doesn’t seem to notice the movement. Though she’s looking at a bird that’s close to the weapons, she gestures towards Kurt.

—You interrupted us, Constantin and me, you approached us with the most iced look I’ve ever seen you. I’m sorry.

The silence makes Theodre turn towards him. Staring at her, Kurt has a rare look on his face: a mixture of tenderness and bitterness. At least he’s back to looking at her in the eye.

—Yeah, I remember. —he speaks softly. He’s hating the direction this is heading, but he lets her finish.

—I hesitated! —she sighs. —I know now you were faking, but you had that...

There’s usually a stern, cold look in his eyes that can’t fool her, for she knows what lies behind, that warm heart of his, always visible for her. That day, she couldn’t. It wasn’t. It scared the hell out of her.

—The look on your eyes scared me. —she admits in a soft voice. —I know now what a choice you had just made, but at that moment you scared me and you worried me to death. I’m sorry.

This is enough.

Kurt has let her talk without interrupting merely because he can’t find words to interrupt this nonsense. She is to blame because she feared him when he was pretending he was about to murder her? But the new apology makes his blood boil and freeze in his veins at the same time. The mixture is enough to shake him out of his astonishment.

—Thee, I get it. —he tries to cut her rambling softly, but Theodre shakes her head, she’s not letting him interrupt.

—You have to understand. I do trust you. Completely.

Now he lacks the words again, so no one talks. This silence has nothing to envy those of the night. Kurt chooses his next words carefully.

—I wouldn’t blame you if some part of you couldn’t.

Theodre stares at him. For the first time in days, he can return her gaze. He has to thank last night for that. Theodre doesn’t answer, not at first, but she sighs way too deeply for someone her size.

—That’s what I feared.

Aaand there she goes again. Kurt sighs once more. At this rate, it’ll look like a sighing contest.

—Okay, maybe I’m not one to talk, but you’re overthinking this. It’s okay, Thee, I’m fine.

—You want proof? —he rolls his eyes, which is not stopping her, of course it’s not. —More than sleeping next to you?

—I didn’t say that.

—Fight me.

Kurt really likes these long stares into each other’s eyes, he does, but they better don’t start fighting to see who manages to lose composure latest because he’s not going to win.

—You’re nuts. What did you take for breakfast?

—No, we haven’t trained since that time I kicked your ass in Sérène. Our last fight in Sérène. I demand satisfaction.

—You won, how the hell you get to demand satisfaction?

—You’ve won me for years, I want complete victory.

There’s just a hint of smile on her face, but, accompanied by serious eyes, it’s more than enough to make him snort.

—You are too much of a noble despite everything, did you know? —Kurt bloody _dares_ to look at her intently before adding—: What a waste.

There’s a hint of surprise in the corner of her eye, a really pleased surprise as if she thought “you _dare_ to say that to my face? I love that nerve”, but apart from that, she keeps her determined face stony.

—You better not force me to start properly commanding you.

—So. That was your idea all along? You want to prove to me you trust me by _fighting_ me?

She steps away to grant him access to the weaponry, though he hasn’t moved yet.

—Yes.

Kurt doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

—And I’m not getting that out of your stubborn mind, am I? —he goes on.

Without a word, she lends him a hand to get up.

—I don’t know, have you?

Kurt gets on his feet with a grunt and grabs his broadsword. It’s not that he doesn’t want to punch a noble, and maybe especially _this_ noble, perhaps he should just enjoy this chance. They head to the vast field near this campsite, secluded from the main paths, and this way they’ll offer a fine show to Vasco and Síora whose eyes don’t leave them for long.

Ready and steady, as Kurt sways the sword (previously covered by fabric to prevent any real damage) and Theodre readies the ring in his hand, he can’t help to smile.

—What? —she scoffs. —Confident about your victory already?

—Always, Greenblood!

Theodre lungs for him with no further delay.

She has mostly focused on long–range, right, but she knows how to yield short–ranged weapons as well and, after all, she was taught by _him_. She knows how to use her magic this closely and he knows how bad that electric shock can bloody hurt, raising from the point of contact through every nerve and making one stumble, even fall to their knees. Kurt evades her fingers easily and hits with his fist to force her to retreat. She charges a sphere of energy: these are not that dangerous, not training, but they also itch like hell. Kurt dodges it easily and Theodre’s fingers gleam with the shivering energy, but his blow is ready before she can cast another spell.

He hits her, but it’s not a deadly blow (or what would have been deadly were the sword not protected). Thee jumps back easily, just a split second, just enough for her feet to touch the earth and use it to jump towards him again. Three fast attacks in quick succession, too fast for the enemy to counterattack properly. Three? That’s too much with no partner to cover you. Kurt aims to her torso, a part her dance usually leaves uncovered. She is aware, she knows Kurt is aware, yet she is leaving that front open.

She’s _rushing_. Why is that? He scans her, whose face doesn’t show a hint. Still, he knows her far too well. That’s not how you fight, this is not how he taught her to fight.

Kurt focuses on repelling her, which is not always easy, but all he has to do is wait. He sways the sword whenever Theodre seeks the contact (like hell he’s gonna let her touch him with those fingers!), which is enough to repel her. Kurt will not settle for letting her play this game in this lame way.

Kurt angles for her ribcage with a speed not easy to gather. It leaves too many open angles, so a real battle is not the perfect scenery to do this show. Even if he has two companions guarding him, there are too many enemies to wield the sword so fast it would leave him lethally exposed. Luckily, not now. He waits until Thee steps back (just preparing herself to throw another close–range attack) and, heedless of the shock to his spine that would mean being hit by her this close, lightning–fast, Kurt’s sword smashes against her chest.

Thee rolls on the earth with a grunt, the blow leaving no air left in her lungs. She gasps for air while touching her ribs in a gesture that makes her wince. She sighs deeply and a flash of pain makes her groan, her own eyes blinded by sheer needles piercing her bones. She’s going to have a nice bruise the next morning.

Kurt is standing next to her, calling her name. When she meets his eyes, he grunts in relief. That lasts only a moment before the anger engulfs everything.

—Theodre! What the hell?! What are you thinking? You’re distracted!

She’s managed to sit up, obvious pain on her face with every movement. Kurt sighs and checks on her with cautious touches.

—You’re right. —she mutters. Kirt groans.

—I know I am! —Kurt drops his arms. Nothing broken, though the blow was indeed painful, he was counting on her doing one of her jumps, or maybe that lightning–fast shield of hers. He expected clumsiness, not... nothing.

She’s doing it again. The way she averts her eyes, the need to start fidgeting or worse, _pacing_. Of course, Kurt has known her for years, he’s seen her like this, but not out of the blue.

—So, are you going to act on it or not? —he scoffs while she still fights to catch her breath. Instead, he finds her piercing eyes, looking right into him in search of his core with a warmness that disarms him.

—You know what? —she sounds so determined. —I am.

This woman is just so unarming. Kurt laughs in earnest.

—I hope so!

Footsteps approaching make them raise their eyes. Vasco gets to them. There, he decides to study the scene before his eyes for a long while, as if he was not witnessing it from afar and was just surprised to find the result of something that must have been interesting.

—Need any help to stand up? —he scoffs. Kurt chuckles, even more when he watches how De Sardet grimaces.

—No, I just happen to like it here down in the ground. You have nothing better to do, Vasco?

—Some emissary was looking for you. They had a letter.

Kurt could pass without all this diplomacy practically chasing them wherever they go, but Theodre merely sighs before extending her hand. Vasco drops the letter with a grin. She doesn’t open it, though. There’s no rush to deal with diplomacy. Vasco stares at them for a second.

—Please, De Sardet, tell me you’re not forcing me to join either of you in a quest until you solve your issues.

Oh, the sailor is feeling wisecrack.

—Why do you call “issue” to my victory, Naut? —Kurt laughs.

—Because you defeated the boss. It’s not the wisest thing I’ve seen you do, guardsman.

—Thee is a grown woman, I’m sure she can handle the shame.

Vasco snorts before heading back to the campsite. Kurt turns slowly towards Theodre to check on her, whose breathing has eased, just to find her in awe.

—What? —he frowns in a desperate attempt to refrain a fear that is hopefully not reflected in his eyes. —What did I do?

—You called me Thee. —she mutters, obviously trying to close her mouth. Kurt is starting to seriously consider if he hit her head instead of the torso.

—Yes...?

—It’s the first time you’ve used it in front of anyone besides Constantin.

His heart sinks.

—Oh. Is it? —he manages to say before his tongue starts at a crazy speed. —Oh, does it bother you? Sorr...

She’s still on the ground and he sat down next to her before, so it’s really no wonder that she has it this easy to touch the sleeve over his forearm with her fingertips before he can add anything else. That stops his jabbering short.

He could grow accustomed to the touching.

—No, no, it doesn’t! —she assures, the hint of a smile on her lips. —Not at all.

Kurt sighs deeply with a nod. Alright. Theodre is about to move her hand away when he touches it, still pressed softly on his skin, still warming and spreading sparks throughout his body. He lets out a whispered, shaky breath to try and ease his thrilling heart, whose beating threatens to break his ribcage.

Theodre gestures towards the letter before falling back to the ground, laying there with a hum of content.

—Could you read it for me? I think I need to lay here a bit longer.

—Such a noble —he scoffs before opening the envelope and reading the content of the paper. Basic updates about Constantin from Lady de Morange –who could be, of course, the only one capable of locating them because she’s been the only one interested enough in the natives to pay any attention to where they were headed–. Hikmet and Saint Matheus’ “doctors” couldn’t help him much, but she seems to have some hope about Catasach. It’s too soon to know, however, as she hints throughout the letter. Kurt finishes the reading with an irrepressible sigh and, as he puts the letter back to its envelope, he scans Thee’s face. Her gaze is lost in the blue sky, no word leaving her throat. She knows this is desperate as much as he does, that’s why he doesn’t comment on it.

—Do you know how rare it is to know how to read among mercenaries? —he says out of the blue.

Alright, it works. She moves her fixed eyes to him almost carefully.

—Is it? —she says. Kurt nods.

—Absolutely. I only learnt thanks to you.

Theodre snorts, looking back at the sky.

—Don’t say it like that. —she protests. —I was just that smart–arse kid too proud to stop showing off.

—In no way you were that. —this earns him a look of disbelief that makes him snort. —Okay, maybe you were a little smart–arse. But not that time. I remember perfectly. How old were you, eight, ten? Lord de Courcillon had just finished his lesson, I came back from some trip your aunt had sent me with Constantin.

—Yeah —she says softly, encouraging him rather than interrupting. Kurt goes on with eyes locked on De Sardet.

—You came to show me what you have learnt during those weeks, to read, you realized I couldn’t read and you resolved you’d teach me.

She snorts once more. Now she finally looks at him for just a moment.

—You hated every part of it.

—I didn’t!

—Kurt, come on, that hit hurt my pride, not my memories! —she laughs briefly, but thankfully she doesn’t avert her gaze from him and the stupid smile he’s barely aware he has. —You had to stand a bookworm kid too smart–arse to notice she was bothering her already–eighteen–years–old guard, who was just minding his own business and merely trying to do his job to keep these fool kids safe.

—I hated that you realized what a hick I was. —he admits softly.

It’s obvious Kurt doesn’t like a bit to confess these things, yet he does. In a soft, insecure voice that doesn’t show regrets at the same time. And the warm–hearted smile doesn’t stumble.

—But you never complained, you never got frustrated, you never stopped teaching me. You never, not even once, showed off. You were fascinated by reading and writing, you realized I couldn’t, and you taught me. That is not smart–arse, Thee, that is pure.

Theodre looks at him out of the corner of her eye and Kurt lets her for a while. She seems to breathe properly by now, so finally, he gets on his feet. Now he lends her hand she accepts wearily. Once they’re both standing, they exchange a quick look that makes him grunt.

—Oh, I know that look. You’re calculating something.

The smile she flashes at him makes the nights pale.

—And what would that be?

—I haven’t the slightest idea. —he chuckles. That widens her grin. —Mind to tell me?

—Wait until my calculations are complete.

And with that, she heads back to the campsite. Kurt can’t help to smile and sigh in exasperation as he kneels to grab his sword.

~

They’ve been tracing this woman for hours now.

They’ve located her home village, they’ve left no stone unturned, they’ve asked everywhere.

They’ve finally met the legendary _tierna harh cadachta_ , well, they’ve finally spotted her before she vanished.

They have relocated their trace.

And now they have watched the stone _move_ before their eyes to hide her path and Theodre is trying to decide whether she feels more like laughing, crying, or banging her head against the walls.

They have found the seeds –De Sardet is not peculiarly proud of searching the home of the woman whose help they’re seeking desperately, but that’s the only choice they had left, isn’t it?–, they have placed them in the altar, the walls have opened.

They have searched through endless caves. They have _found_ her, they had her, they had finally her in front of them.

Síora has tried to talk to her, but the _tierna harh_ is not listening. And, of course, it could get much worse. Of course it does. For a moment, no one seems to understand what is going on. A man with the colors of the Bridge Alliance _shoots_ her. The silence after the detonation deafens everyone left alive to hear it.

For a second, there is only silence in the terrace until Theodre’s desperate, enraged yell fills the air as one of her projectiles hits the spy. She would love to grab that man and show him how desperate she is to gather any help for Constantin by any means she could think of, but then it gets far worse.

In the blink of an eye, a gigantic creature smashes the man. A gigantic creature unmistakably resembling the one that almost killed them in Sérène, and they don’t need reminders of what those creatures can do. The team steps back, but there’s no place left to run and the _tierna harh_ is _here_ , she is right here, at their fingertips, wounded and dying. Vasco looks askance at Theodre, but of course they’re not retreating, so he unsheathes his thin sword while Síora casts that spell –Vasco couldn’t repeat the words even if his life depended on it– that means the start of the fighting.

—What the hell is that thing? —he yells to make himself heard above the trembling of the earth this creature provokes.

—Nádaig frasamen! —Síora answers. Oh right that explains everything. He has to admit he is not sure what he was looking for though. He avoids those claws bigger than his arm with elegance before hitting its skin. The sword makes a not very promising sound before Síora joins him.

—I thought these creatures were sacred for your people, Síora.

—It is guarding its _doneigad_ , Mev —she adds after dodging a peculiarly lethal attack. De Sardet casts a series of fast spells to let her room to catch her breath. —It is as sacred as our doneigada or Tír Fradí herself. But my _carants_ needs the _tierna harh_. _Carants_ are also sacred, Vasco.

Theodre tries to keep fighting despite Síora’s words threatening to make her cry. Shit, she should pull her finger out _now_. The spell of stasis caresses her spine before engulfing the creature. It leaves her panting but is enough to freeze the beast for some seconds. That would give them some time to think. To think _fast_.

—Everyone alright? —she calls. The sudden silence is deafening and the clock is ticking. Síora nods stepping back and Vasco readies his sword.

—You better think of a strategy, De Sardet, I don’t like a bit the look of this thing.

—There is no better strategy than focusing on not being killed. —asserts Síora. Theodre can feel waves on her fingertips, the shackles about to break, the stasis almost faded. She casts a healing spell to regain some strength before stepping back and the fight resumes.

The skin of this thing is stone thick. That should be a problem for Síora and Vasco, not for her, but of course this creature is resistant to magical damage as everything on this island seems to be. The fight is extenuating and lasts longer than any warrior could bear, but they have to do this. They have to get her to talk, they need her knowledge, they bloody need _en ol míl fríchtimen_ no matter the cost. It is weakening, they’re damaging it, it can’t last much longer, they have to kill it fast because the longer it takes, the lesser the possibilities the _tierna harh_ still breathes. They have to do it, it has to die and its breathing betrays the attacks are really hurting it. They’re almost there, they have to be.

Perhaps that’s why the blow of the creature catches her off guard.

It throws something as fast as Theodre’s spells and she doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Her shield doesn’t even have time to blink before the sheer power of the creature trespasses whatever barrier she could have cast and bites right through her skin, straight to her core.

She falls down with a yelp. Theodre can hear the distant echoes of her teammates calling for her, asking her if she’s alright, but she can’t understand anything besides her ragged breathing. Damn, this hurts. She forces herself to stand and almost falls, but her right knee refuses to fall. So she is on her feet, she summons her power, she throws an attack that’s not nearly as powerful as it should, but that is there nonetheless. Maybe she should focus on healing, shouldn’t she?, but she finds her fingers don’t answer to her voiceless call anymore. Looks like those lame spirals that cost very little are the only thing she can afford now, so she does.

The rest of the battle is a daze. If asked, Theodre couldn’t tell if it lasted a minute or a century. It is finally over. The creature falls and the hit of its corpse against the ground makes it shudder in a way that resonates in Theodre’s body and threatens to make her scream, nerves she didn’t know she had burning in pain. But she doesn’t. She forces her left knee to oblige and she stands.

Vasco and Síora are already by her side, but she shakes her head, Mev, the _tierna harh cadachta_ is the priority.

—Theodre, are you alright? —Síora says, unbothered by her gesture. Stubborn as always, Theodre walks clumsily towards Mev.

—Is she breathing?

—I don’t know. I think so… Yes, yes, I think so, she’s alive.

—Síora, heal her.

—What about you? —Vasco sees her stumbling and grabs her arm fast. She should protest, but she leans against him far more than she should. —Are you alright? That was a fine hit.

—I’m fine, we need her. —she stares intently at her, so she doesn’t notice the way she flinches when Vasco’s hand brushes against her clothes.

Síora is checking on Mev and De Sardet is focused enough to worry at the faces she’s making. Please, she has to pull through, she has to make it, there’s no way they’re losing her like this, slipping through their fingers.

—I think she can make it. —finally says Síora. —We have to take her somewhere safe fast. She needs assistance.

Then, at the same time as she opens wide her eyes, Vasco notices the dampness of his own gloves where he’s making contact with Theodre. Therefore, he notices the blood that’s spreading through De Sardet’s clothing. His grip on her arm tightens.

—You are injured! —he exlaims. De Sardet follows Síora’s stare and looks surprised to see the change of colors of her clothes, where the black looks now beautifully darker.

—I am dizzy. —she admits aloud. Síora moves next to her to study the wound, which De Sardet refuses.

—Kurt is going to kill me. —Vasco sighs. That makes De Sardert let out a chuckle instantly turn into a hiss of pain.

—He is the one who taught me to fight. In any case, I should kill him for not teaching me good enough.

—Do you need to sit? —Síora says. She’s also staring at her, concern painted all over her face, and then Theodre realizes. Both are staring at her. Why the hell they are not helping Mev right away?!

—What are you doing? We need her! —she tries to step forward just for her left knee to forget her commands and let her fall. Vasco holds her and the movement makes her yelp in pain once more.

—Theodre, we have to take a look at your wound.

Years and years of nobility blood ( _fake_ nobility blood) suffocating her just for this. This moment where she risks everything.

She glares at Vasco with an intensity that can be quite convincing, even for someone like a Naut.

—We have to save her, Vasco. We can’t make miracles. Síora can’t heal two people after this battle. I am still standing, more or less. The _tierna harh_ is not. Please, Vasco, we must help her _now_.

Vasco clenches his jaw, but perhaps he realizes she’s more terrifying than Kurt’s possible reaction because he obliges. With Síora’s assistance, Vasco carries her inert body. Theodre manages to get up and follows them.

Theodre won’t recall anything of the trip to the nearest village. Not even the excruciating pain she hides magnifically, not the relief of hearing the words of the mál leave his lips ( _looks like she’ll live. Thank you,_ on ol menawi _, thank you so much_ ), not the breeze of spring that should relieve her after the overwhelming heat inside the house but that makes her bones chill instead.

They walk outside and she can feel Vasco and Síora’s eyes on her, but she won’t remember that either. Nor the way her feet suddenly feel very light when they touch the ground, as if her body was just ready to start flying through the clear skies.

—We should take a look at that wound —she won’t remember the words, either, but mostly because she can’t hear them. The world turns into white. Nothing else to see but the white, the infinite blank of a canvas she won’t be there to appreciate.

More words fill the air, _Clos duis a ruicht neis dírí_ , familiar words even if she cannot understand a single word of them, but they get to her skin too late. Theodre has already fallen in the deepest black where no sound, no light, no hope is allowed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the much needed talk.

It was always possible that something went wrong, of course.

“Go wrong” could usually mean being killed. Being a warrior, Kurt understood. Being among nobility since a teenager– he really understood. Even there, things could get wrong, awfully wrong. Poisoning, backstabbing, treason, espionage, _coups_ –everything was possible, and nastier, among those who strive for power.

Kurt understood, really. He really thought he did. Until he saw her limp body in Vasco’s arms.

She’s not moving. She’s never been the most restless kid, but this is so not like her he can feel a physical punch to his stomach.

It doesn’t improve now that she lays on her bed, quite too big for her all of a sudden. Kurt really hopes it’s the bed what makes her look this small.

He’s repeated the words hundreds of times now. The wound is not so bad. She should overcome the blood loss. She will most likely recover.

He’s not an expert, but the doubt inherent to those words aches. It is not _so_ bad, she _should_ overcome it, she will _most likely_ live. Sod it. It’s already been a day and she’s not up. She’s still unconscious. Her stillness is eating him inch by inch.

The door opens and Kurt is suddenly too tired to pretend he’s not been holding her arm through most part of these twenty–four hours, so he sighs before checking the door. A really weary–eyed blonde stares at the bed. Or he would be weary–eyed were it not for the black veins the malichor highlights that hide his features, making him look like the poison is eating his whole being. Which is what’s happening, more or less.

Kurt tries to release the grip on her hand, but Constantin sighs and shakes weakly his head.

—Catasach is not letting me stay long, Kurt, don’t bother. He says he’ll come to check on her as soon as I get back. How... —his voice trembles. He clears his throat. —How is she?

—The same. That doctor Aphra brought says she’ll improve soon enough. —even Kurt notices how pathetic he sounds, scared to death as he is, but he can’t help it. —She...

—She’ll be okay.

Kurt looks at the young man, the one that can barely stand without heavily leaning against the doorframe, the heavy pain masked by Catasach’s remedies. His eyes don’t leave his cousin, threatening this body to bring her back with a silent command only a noble could bear. It’s not that Constantin wants to cheer him up... it’s not only that, at least. It’s that Constantin needs to believe it as much as he does.

Somehow, he finds it relieving.

Soon, Constantin is too tired to stay any longer if he wants to go back to his palace by his own feet. The governor being carried would be something, maybe even enough to wake De Sardet, but Constantin refuses with a laugh. So he leaves and the room gets back to that quietness so unreal.

Aphra is crafting remedies following the doctor’s orders, Vasco is pacing somewhere near, Síora discusses with Catasach in a low voice what she can do to help, Petrus is gone to pray somewhere he can feel more useful. Kurt is just exhausted to guard her, but he’s not going anywhere. He’s her oldest, and perhaps closest, companion, so no one finds it odd for him to stay 24/7 and some part of him is grateful for that (the part that still cares for the world outside here).

He is careful to rest his head against the back of his chair. The previous night, he was so worried he barely noticed he had fallen asleep until he woke to her moan. He had touched her injuries during his sleep. He muttered her name apologetically, to which she made no reply but to shudder and let out a whimper so pitiful it went directly to Kurt’s stupid heart. It didn’t happen again.

He’s determined to stay by her side no matter what, but he can’t stay awake another night. That’s why the whisper seems to come straight from his dreams.

He wakes with a start. He’s heard something, he’s sure, and what else could it be if it’s only the two of them left in the room?, but it still startles him to find her green eyes looking at him through heavy eyelids.

—Hello —she mutters. She sounds so tired Kurt feels the need to start crying. He sighs very slowly instead. Looks like it’s the first time he’s breathed on this day. Nothing else could explain the void that’s left in his chest that would be enough to throw him off balance if he had been standing.

—Hello, Greenblood. Thee. —there’s a lock of hair over her eyes. With extreme caution, he puts it behind her ear with a softness he didn’t know he had. Theodre smiles weakly, but she smiles all the same and that’s enough to make him want to keep his hand over her cheek. He puts it on his lap instead. —How are you feeling?

—Exhausted. But no pain. Catasach was worth the trouble —she chuckles with a sound that turns into a gasp. Kurt must add pressure to the hand he’s holding again (since when?) because she smiles reassuringly. —I’m fine, Kurt.

This woman can’t be for real. She cannot be trying to calm him with her very first breath. It can’t. It’s just too... too much. He sighs in a way that he hopes conveys his exasperation and extreme relief. Theodre moves to better accommodate in the bed and it makes her wince.

—What happened? Because you look like I’m about to die.

—You look like you are. —he scoffs. —The _nádaig_ don’t–know–what–else threw you some sort of stone splinters embedded with that sort of magic they have, those pierced your armor like blades. The doctor... extracted them, but they were like daggers, they cut several veins. That’s what caused all the bleeding.

His eyes are grave. _You were distracted. Again_ , he is saying. Theodre has not enough strength to mask her emotion that confirms it. _I was. I’ve made up my mind, but at the time, I hadn’t._

—I’m fine —she insists softly. Neither of them hears the door that opens, the intruder’s sigh of relief nor their footsteps downstairs.

—I’ll believe it when a doctor says it. —Kurt counterattacks. Theodre is tempted to raise an eyebrow, but not enough muscles respond to her call.

—Ask them. I’m pretty sure they’d agree. —okay, it’s a bet, but it works. Kurt rolls his eyes. It is almost offending the way she always manages to get everything her way.

—They do, actually. I’m just...

He ends the thought with a sigh that makes her smile weakly again.

—You look exhausted.

—Enough about my looks —Kurt doesn’t stop smiling, though. He must look silly, but hell if he cares. He’s missed her voice so deeply, so eagerly, he can’t even be mad. —Do you want me to bring a mirror?

—I didn’t mean that. —she chuckles just to avoid laughing and thus moving her poor lungs. —You stayed.

—Of course I did. —Kurt has another tender smile he doesn’t bother to hide. His hand rests now close to her birthmark. When did it get there? —I told you this changed nothing for me, Greenblod, remember? I’d continue to watch over you.

—Watching over me doesn’t imply staying by my bed until I wake up.

—I’ll be the one to decide that.

She laughs softly before her eyes close by their own will; Kurt caresses her forehead, not really warm. No fever. He could die of sheer relief.

—I could use you sleeping here, you know. —she mutters. Damn, he thought she was already sleeping. Kurt chuckles.

—Yes, only because you’ll sleep too long again and I’ll have to deal with our teammates’ questioning looks by myself —he retorts softly. She manages to chuckle softly before falling in a much–needed sleep.

~

It is basically a miracle that they can coerce her into bed for two whole days. The third, however, they run out of luck.

When Petrus opens the door, he finds a former bodyguard _glaring_ at her current ¿boss? while she stands still in the middle of the dining room, three other people staring with different amounts of mocking ready in their eyes.

—Am I interrupting something? —he asks, not any less mocking in his voice. Theodre makes a small gesture to greet him while Kurt doesn’t move.

—My bodyguard is rebelling. —oh, the way her eyes shine with amusement after all. —Again.

—You know I don’t follow insane orders, don’t you? You must notice last time. —Kurt can scoff? Petrus didn’t know. He smiles at De Sardet.

—I’m glad to see you back to your feet, my child.

—I’m not. —Kurt asserts.

—Duly noted. Now please can we go back to where we left it?

—Where was that? —Petrus is an expert adding fuel to fire.

—Theodre thought we should check on Mev. —Aphra points towards her leader with her chin. —I think she’s right. We don’t have much time to waste. If she knows anything about this _en ol míl fríchtimen_ , we gotta know.

—I’m not arguing about that. I think she should not be the one to lead this, that’s all. —Kurt doesn’t stop glaring as he speaks. Theodre is quite skilled ignoring him, but she can’t speak before Vasco:

—We’re all grown–ups, Theodre. We can manage without you. For some time.

By the look in her eyes, she hadn’t thought about that. Of course, she’s the Legate, she’s the diplomat... but diplomacy is played differently among natives. And, even if she’s standing with no support, she’s tense, she’s crossed her arms over her chest and she’s not relaxing them. Staying here doesn’t seem so unpleasant, despite herself.

—So Aphra, Vasco, and Síora, go there and check on Mev. —she gives up, which makes Kurt grin widely. —Síora, please, please let her know I’m not allowed to go, it’s not that I don’t _want_.

—The less _renaigse_ , the better for her, _Carants_. —Síora pats her forearm carefully yet affectionally. —Don’t worry.

—You’ll leave first thing tomorrow. —she adds. Finally, she extends a hand; Kurt doesn’t hesitate before grabbing it and helping her walk towards a chair, where she sits wearily. —I don’t want you to rush, but please, don’t be long.

—We won’t. —Aphra leaves as she speaks to head to the store, there are supplies to gather, armor to check, trinkets to sell... Vasco rushes after her while Síora is giving De Sardet some advice about the care of her wounds. Kurt doesn’t avert her gaze from the scene before him until Síora finally leaves as well. For some reason, Petrus is nowhere to be seen either. Theodre sighs deeply. After the preceding argument, Kurt is not going to be the one that suggests she should get back to bed. He’s got plenty of defeats for today.

—Kurt, do you mind joining me? —he blinks with a start. —I’d like to take some air*.

He should have made his suggestion while he could. Now he merely smiles, almost amused, before nodding.

—You know I’d love to.

Kurt extends his arm and she grabs it to stand. It doesn’t take her too much effort, actually, and some part inside Kurt is really glad to find out.

Another part can’t just get over how thin this arm around his feels.

They walk outside slowly. After a brief discussion, which, of course, Kurt had no chance of winning, they cross the eastern gate and walk peacefully through the fields, close enough to New Sérène that guardsmen would be upon them in no time, should any danger arise.

Despite the walk, Theodre places reasonably little weight on his arm, keeping him more as a “just in case” than a proper cane. No complaints. He has already come to terms with the idea that he likes the proximity much more than he should.

They sit down the rocks on the cliff. The very impressive ships of the Nauts can be seen perfectly from here. It is a magnificent view and the walls are really close, so Kurt allows himself to relax.

He notices the ring on Theodre’s hand and can’t help to smile. He’s taught these cousins fine.

—What’s called that thing you do where you explode in stasis?

She doesn’t even feign suspicion. Much to his surprise, Kurt knows Theodre really likes the sea. After three months trapped in it, Kurt is still coming to terms with its existence, but Theodre seems to relax whenever it’s nearby. _She is a sea–born after all_ , he thinks, and he can’t help to laugh. Okay, he has to use that against her some other time.

—Shadow’s impact. —Theodre answers. Just to think about the spell, how it freezes everyone around her no matter the numbers, Kurt feels a chill down his spine. Being a skilled warrior, to think of an opponent to whom your skill means nothing is peculiarly anguishing. You could cut them, but they just won’t let your muscles move. You die before you can prove what your years of training were for.

—Terrifying. —he states. Theodre chuckles.

—I would never use it upon you.

That’s offending at so many levels Kurt only manages to laugh in earnest before he can find proper words.

—I’m not scared of _you_ , Thee, please. You cannot fear someone whom you’ve known with ponytails. That combination you do with the explosion... —he shakes his head amused. —I’ll never get tired of watching you explode people away.

—That’s storm. I rather like it, yeah.

—What’s your top killing with that?

—Six people.

—Really?

—Yes. Remember our last assault to the ghost camp, the slavers? While Síora and you fought outside, someone started shooting from the windows of the first floor in the building, so I told you I’d check that. Well, there were six of them, they tried to surround me as I exited the stairs, and it just sort of... happened. I thought they’d be stronger.

Kurt shakes his head with amusement as if he kept telling himself how unbelievable the situation is the more he pictures it in his head. But he’s not finished his thoughts.

—Do you remember the first time you defeated me?

—Sure I do. I replay that in my head every time I’m feeling down.

Kurt smirks despite himself. When he gets serious, he gestures towards her.

—You are a diplomate. You have always been. Yet so gracious at fight! It wasn’t long before watching you fight felt like a dance. I hated it, you looked like a squirrel, always getting distance as fast as you could, it exasperated me. —he smiles briefly at the sound of her laugh. —But it was effective.

Kurt caresses her sorcerer’s ring. The thing thrills in anticipation and its power touch inside his body, checking him, tasting him, cold tentacles spreading through every hole inside of him. It feels like a freezing current submerged in the endless sea, though no skin stops this one from spreading throughout him.

—And now you can kill six people before they get to touch you. —he finishes finally raising his eyes. Theodre’s show a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

—Yes...?

Kurt cuts the contact with a sigh.

—I really shouldn’t be this worried.

—You shouldn’t. —Theodre smiles almost apologetically.

—Everyone makes mistakes.

—I know that.

—Yours just hurt more than they should, I guess.

It’s nice just being here with her, no thinking, no mistakes, no apologies. It feels like this is how everything should be. Everything fits. It is right. Kurt breathes deeply.

—Can I ask you something? —she says. It makes him chuckle.

—The day I start charging you for my answers would be the death of you. Ask away.

—If I asked you to kiss me. Would you?

His heart lurches. There’s no way those are the words she has said because they made no sense, because there’s no one else around she could aim them to. That would mean she’s talking about herself. That means she’s talking about him. So he must have gotten it wrong.

—You sure? —he mutters before his brain can restart.

Thee does. She is on her feet the following moment, so much anger radiating from her it makes him lose his voice. She turns around to leave and just then, lighting–fast, his body reacts the way it likes the most: seeking her contact. His hand surrounds her wrist so softly it’s almost like the touch of a ghost, not ever stopping her, just letting her know. It works. She stops.

—Wait, Thee, wait, don’t... don’t be mad, please. —he whispers. Theodre turns on her heels.

—Why wouldn’t I be sure?

Theodre is still too angry to backtrack, but her wounds make her wince and she has to sit down. Kurt watches her do so without moving a single muscle, afraid any movement would make the injuries worse. It’s not until he decides she’s alright that he goes on.

—You surprised me. How could I dare to...? —he blushes so hard his voice fails. He clears his throat. —Just because you kindly require me to join you doesn’t mean I could get my hopes high about...

Theodre’s fingertips ache for the contact of his cheeks, but Kurt is pretty much expressing his discomfort, so she doesn’t allow that. Her naked eyes stare right into his instead.

—Kurt, I kindly require you to shut up. Listen to me. I didn’t know you thought of me like that. Like your superior, like your boss. I apologize for not realizing that. I also apologize for mistaking your kindness as a subordinate for something else. This is a mistake I should have prevente–

—There’s no mistake in that.

Now his eyes are the naked ones when he stares at her face, trying to decide whether this is a dream, a joke, or a fantasy. These damn jokes of the nights toying with his heart must stop before he screws up… yet he doesn’t backtrack when he catches sight of her eyes. He sighs deeply just to try and regain control over his mind.

—You can’t fix everything, you know. But anyway you have nothing to fix here. Your titles don’t scare me, Thee. But my lack of them drags you down.

—If it got to that, it wouldn’t be your fault.

—How can you say that?

—I’m a grown person, Kurt!

—You’re a diplomate, Greenblood. Being with me would only taint your name.

For a moment, there’s so much _rage_ in her eyes she looks like she’s about to jump to her feet again and Kurt, trying to stop the cataclysm before it happens, touches her hand. She doesn’t stand, however. This rage is not aimed towards him. This is for all the wrong things the world made them believe. For all the wrong it made them.

—Don’t you _dare_ say that, Kurt. —she roars. —My family is not my real family. So my blood is as low as yours. In fact, mine is worse, probably, since you’re at least from the continent. The naturalists from Al Saad would sacrifice me long before thinking about touching you.

The thought sickens him, much more knowing it’s true. He grimaces.

—Don’t talk like that.

—It’s true, Kurt.

—It’s not about blood. Not exactly.

—About what then?

Kurt, the mighty warrior, lacks the words to express it. It is slipping between his fingers, he can feel all he’s losing because of his clumsiness and it’s only making the weight on his chest tighten its grip around his heart. And then, magically, she smiles in a way that promises the world is right and there is nothing out there to fear.

—You’re not scarred beyond repair. Don’t ever be ashamed of someone else hurting you. Never. You’re good, you’re kind, you’re compasionate, you’re a great person despite how deeply bad people harmed you. I love all of it.

Okay, that final verb may be too much to handle. She doesn’t leave his gaze for a second as she explains, carefully, decided.

—I’ve loved it as a friend, Kurt, and I’ll continue to do so. Whatever you want us to be, I’ll be okay with it. I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want to rush things. I just want you to know where I stand.

This talent of hers to find the root of every problem doesn’t even upset him. In a titanic effort, Kurt breathes in.

—I’m a hired killer. —he points out. Theodre doesn’t blink.

—You were. You stopped being one the moment you turned your back to the Guard during the coup. You have your own ethics. You chose to follow them.

—I chose to follow _you_.

—You saved much more than me that night. Does it not prove my point?

All his walls crumble and all he cares about is the way her eyes shine in anticipation. Kurt raises his hand and caresses her cheek. She leans on the contact with her eyes open, waiting, calm. No rush. It fits.

—How did this all start? —he wonders. Theodre flashes him a proud smile.

—I said: kiss me, please.

—You didn’t say that.

—I thought it so loudly you could hear it.

Kurt realizes, as his fingers move by their own will, he could spend unspecified amounts of time just parting her rebel locks of hair, putting them behind her ear, watching how her eyes follow his movement closely.

—What have you been waiting for to tell me all this?

And, as if Theodre had always been aware this is one of his most perfect memories, she grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles softly once more. This time, he shudders, he actually does, there’s no hiding it, yet it delights her.

—This was not my move to make, Kurt. If you don’t see me as a partner, as an equal, I stood no chance. This wouldn’t be right until that resolve of yours of me being a princess started to crumble. Until I saw you longing. —she hesitates for a fleeting moment. —I was waiting for you.

—That’s what you were calculating? —she nods fast, so fast Kurt realizes she’s just as incredibly eager and calm as he is. —Calculations complete?

He hasn’t ever said _we’re not equals. You are different. You are special._ All he has said is: _others will critize you for me. I am the problem. I am not worth it_. It is not the same to think someone is way out of your league than to think they’re beings of light, sacred and perfect and untouchable. And _commanding_. This is what she was waiting. This is what she has been longing for as well.

For an answer, Theodre cups his face with her hands and smiles with content.

—I’m going to kiss you now.

—I’m not stopping you. —he points out before her lips caress his with the same softness she used for his fingers. And then everything outside fades and Kurt realizes she feels better than he could ever imagine, so he deepens the kiss in a bold move that should not be the last, given the sound of utter satisfaction it takes out of her. His whole soul poured into a kiss and carefully, affectionally held there, not ever letting it fall.

~

An impossibly long time later, they head back to Theodre’s house.

Before leaving the walls of the city, Kurt made her ask for Catasach’s and Constantin’s approval, so it’s only far that they pass by to show them everything’s alright. It must have been hard for Constantin to watch her cousin wounded, recovering, and then taking a _walk_ while he’s chained to his throne. And, when he’s not, the sickness that looks him back from the mirror remembers him of his unescapable fate. Theodre scans fast Kurt’s face before accepting to check on Constantin. It’s true: Kurt would love to get back home, to hug her and caress every inch of her skin, to sleep next to her and hear her breathing knowing he’s allowed to, just as much as she does. But he’s right. She should do this first. So, after an unspecified amount of kissing that tastes like eternity and freedom, they head back.

She spends most of the walk touching his naked arm with the back of her hand, enjoying his touch without the gloves of the armor, and startles when he grabs her hand and kisses it before leaving their fingers intertwined for the rest of the walk.

They enter the palace and, instantly, Theodre feels her throat tighten until there’s no breathing left in her lungs. She asks something, Kurt presses the lonely soldier, They make him speak, although the words make no sense, but their absence makes them real, almost visible as they try to put together the bits of information they have.

Catasach and Constantin are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie: I love the way the game treats all this. Despite the different social statement, it feels natural. Kurt hesitates about it in a self-deprecating way, but he decides De Sardet can be trusted. She is not toying with him, she knows what she wants and he accepts it because he also trusts her. I really love how natural it feels (even if rushed, as every relationship tends to be in videogames...... I'm not looking at you Garrus), but I just had to write my own take on it.  
> Also I'm sorry


	6. All along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sadly this chapter is full of jumps between scenes, but it felt boring otherwise. I hope it's not too rushed. This chapter covers the whole search for Constantin and Catasach.

_Is it required that they talk about it?_

Five days ago.

Five days ago, he was still hyperventilating just at the mere thought of _discussing_ that they were becoming _friends_.

Now he’s allowed to stare at her for as long as he pleases before kissing her. He’s allowed even to _kiss_ her. Isn’t it wonderful?

Despite the rage, the desperation, the bitterness of whatever is going on —that still amazes him, he still loses his breath for a moment. And he knows Theodre does as well by the way she smirks, gazing at him for a little too long. Isn’t it just _wonderful_? That the explanation behind this dull itch at the bottom of his brain whenever he got closer to Thee was mere fear of losing her? Pure longing?

These thoughts don’t come out of the blue. It’s because, again, as they are walking through the fields, Thee looks for his contact. She’s been doing that the whole day. She walks too close sometimes just to caress him whenever she can. What a poor comfort that might bring, but he obliges happily.

The hours go by with no news and she still looks for his touch, much to his wonder. They finally convince her to rest, just to have lunch, nothing more, they swear. They convince her only because she is exhausted. The more tired they are, the sooner they’ll have to give up the search. And Theodre would never abandon Constantin, so there’s no other way. She accepts to take a break.

Then the tension that’s been floating among them explodes.

Síora approaches De Sardet, who is eating practically in silence.

—You said you weren’t sure about Catasach’s motives.

De Sardet stops eating, her gaze fixed on Síora and the rage of her voice. She doesn’t answer, though, Síora has plenty of things to say.

—Do you really believe it? —she adds. The tone of her voice has shifted into something angrier. Petrus tries to stop the disaster waiting to happen.

—Síora, child, De Sardet is under a lot of... —but his try is stopped by her glare. Through the corner of his eye, Kurt can see how Aphra frowns. Vasco is busy rubbing his face.

—I’m finishing this. —Síora spares only a second to say those words before turning back to De Sardet, who hasn’t moved an inch. —Catasach left his own clan to help some _renaigse_ in pain. Constantin’s charge, his blood or his name meant nothing for him. He just wanted to help him. He left his home for that. To help _you_. And you suspect him?

Their position, thankfully, allows Kurt to caress her fingers out of the view. It’s the only comfort he can offer.

—I... —she sighs deeply. —I don’t know.

That doesn’t calm Síora’s anger. It only seems to further disappoint her.

—You _renaigse_ have very dark hearts.

Síora leaves without another word. Not much later, Theodre gets out. No one moves and, of course, no one thinks about stopping her. They’ll be there for her when she’s ready.

After some more minutes, Kurt stands with a heavy sigh.

—I think I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when Theodre gets back, will you?

—Sure thing. —Vasco nods, busy reading the novel he bought last time they went by Hikmet. —Enjoy yourself.

Kurt moves some metres away before laying down on the grass and closing his heavy eyelids. He doesn’t fall completely asleep —he has trouble sleeping at night, of course he can’t sleep at day—, but he enters in this state of slumber where everything seems so distant it can no longer bother you. Then, the whisper of soft skin wakes him up.

It doesn’t even startle him. It doesn’t wake him up just to get off the bed fearing whatever is touching him because there can be very harmful things hiding in the touch. It’s so soft, so warm, so tender only one person left in this world would be the one behind it. So Kurt opens his eyes still clouded by sleep just to find Theodre’s red hair, approaching to lean against his chest. He cups her head with his hand before kissing her temple. Gathering courage from the satisfied sound that Theodre lets out, Kurt lowers his head just to meet her lips with his. She answers the long, calm kiss before a sigh breaks it.

—I wish I could enjoy this plenty.

—You will once we find them.

 _If we do_ , adds her scared eyes. But she relaxes into his touch all the same, as if her whole heart sung _this is more than just fine until then_.

It doesn’t take them much longer to find Catasach’s body.

* * *

Daren doesn’t leave the body for an instant. Vasco rather doesn’t know what she fears they may do to it.

Catasach, on the other hand, has clearly suffered enough. Vasco is not the only one among the team to shiver at the sight.

All that’s left of Catasach in this world is this horrified look of agony.

—He was a good man. A really good one. —he sighs. Aphra nods weakly.

—Dammit —mutters De Sardet. Daren takes that as a cue to glare at her.

Daren doesn’t bother to hide whom she blames and De Sardet is too shocked to counterattack.

—He was beaten to death. He deserved better. —she adds. Daren snickers.

—For once, I agree.

—So. What do we do now?

—There’s pretty much nothing we can do.

She looks so beaten. She’s fought for lost causes for so long she can’t bear another defeat, maybe. Vasco is not too lost on his empathy to notice the look on Síora’s face. He raises an eyebrow, intrigued, but he hopes it also encourages her to speak.

It works. Síora sighs before speaking, her voice firmer than she looks.

—There is this ritual. Some _doneigada_ , the most powerful ones, can live again the death of the people through their eyes. But it is risky. Feeling death in your body makes it believe you are the one dying. It kills you. Often. Only powerful _doneigada_ can try to perform it.

De Sardet raises her eyes. Okay, that boldness spreading through her features feels reassuringly like her again.

—Mev could help us.

—No!

Alright, Síora was thinking the same, but hearing that rage from Daren gives even her the urge to fight it.

—You don’t know what you’re asking for.

—Explain it to us then —resolves Vasco. Daren glares at him as if she couldn’t decide which _renaigse_ is worse.

—There are risks from performing the ritual. You _renaigse_ can never think about the meaning of your demands, nor the consequence of your actions. Then you shed blood when the result displeases you. You rather set other people’s world on fire than not owning it. You don’t have any right to demand this.

—We have every right to ask. —Petrus counterattacks. Daren doesn’t bat her eye.

—The _tierna_ already lost much to that same ritual before. You ask her to put her own life at risk to find a dead _renaigse_.

She said it with a certainty that made De Sardet snap, not even thinking, just dying to get the sound of those convinced words out of her ears:

—Constantin might be still alive.

Daren looks like she’s about to burst into laughter, but Theodre’s eyes somehow convince her of what a bad idea that would be. So anger and hatred fill her gaze instead.

—You have no proof of the opposite.

—Neither do you. I only want to ask for help. I’m not forcing her.

The contemptuous smile on Daren’s face feels like venom to her gaze.

—Allow me to doubt that.

—Doubt all you wish. She’s not like that.

All eyes land on Síora, whose gaze is the most stern it can get. Theodre feels like she should intervene, stop getting Síora involved in the most conflicted situations, but Síora seems to think otherwise.

— _Renaigse_ are like that, Síora. —Daren insists, almost patiently. Síora doesn’t blink.

—She is not like them.

—Catasach would disagree.

Theodre flinches and that’s enough for Kurt. Luckily, before he can start yelling, punching, or comforting Theodre, Síora strikes back.

—Don’t blame us for his death, Daren. Catasach was a healer; we asked him to heal a sick person. Now both disappeared. Whatever they were doing, they did by their own will. We couldn’t have prevented this unless you really wanted Catasach tied to the _renaigse_ ’s throne.

The two women exchange a look. Daren seems to accept she can’t change Síora’s mind because she sighs and changes the topic so fast it takes Theodre a bit to follow:

—I hear you are looking for our High King.

She blinks, unsure. It’s hard to know how much she can say without making her turn against them. More, that is.

—Yes. We are looking for a cure for a disease that affects our people. We need to ask _en ol míl fríchtimen_ for that. We have been told that only the High King could open the path for us.

The way Theodre looks regretfully at the body is visible even for Daren.

—He helped you. —guesses the _mál_. That makes Theodre’s shoulders hunch, an unconscious effort to make herself smaller.

—Yes —she mutters.

—Catasach gave De Sardet his ring. His seal. He trusted her —Aphra points. Daren looks at the body as well, her eyes as regretful as De Sardet’s themselves.

—For all the good that did to him.

They retire to the closest campside. Just for a moment before parting to meet Mev: they need to rest. Even Theodre agrees without arguing. Just for a few hours, just enough to make the sleep hat clouds their minds lift for a little longer.

Theodre is barely eating anything. The black circles around her eyes are twice as big as they used to be on her worst days in Sérène. She is not one to worry sick, but she certainly looks ill now. Kurt is actually so concerned by her blank stare that he’s about to overcome his fear of getting their affair known when Theodre herself speaks.

—I’m sorry, Síora. —before she can answer, Theodre adds—: I’m truly sorry. You were right. I had no reason to suspect Catasach, yet I did. Just like any _renaigse_ would. I often forget you don’t play by our rules, you don’t backstab as we do, and...

Síora is shaking her head before she can continue.

—It’s okay, _Carants_. I am not in your place. I shouldn’t judge you. I’m sorry too.

—She was right, Greenblood. —Kurt says with a weary look. —We are not to blame for this.

The team looks at him as if the possibility had never occurred to them.

—Of course we are not, child. —Petrus has the look of a mourning father talking to his sobbing child. —Whatever happened, happened because Catasach and Constantin left without telling us.

—Catasach was murdered. That look on his eyes... —Aphra sighs, but she’s not done. She raises her determined eyes to her leader. —Whoever is to blame, they have nothing to do with us. We have always asked for help, always tried to help. There was nothing else we could have done.

Theodre leaves with a sad smile to get some sleep, or to try to, as Kurt fears. If only there was more he could do to ease some of her burden, some of the obvious pain and concern nested in her piercing eyes.

—So. Finally talked about a few things, I guess?

Kurt has the distinct feeling he’s not going to like this conversation as he glares at Vasco.

The sailor’s eyes don’t ever leave the direction Theodre went... which is the same point Kurt has been staring at. Damn it, has he stared this whole time? Trying to cool his features, Kurt frowns.

—Don’t know what you’re talking about.

Vasco doesn’t even feign innocence, the cunning bastard. Instead, he starts to laugh his ass off right to his face.

—Maybe one day she’ll tell you how to lie without batting an eye. In the meantime, Kurt, you’re an open book.

—Screw you, sailor.

—“Sailor”? No, this is not only my saying. We’re all pretty much on the same page.

—You _what_? —he stares at Síora, who smiles mercilessly. Tender, as well. And maybe even sorrowful.

—I recognize the way someone looks at their Minundhamen when I see it.

Oh no. Kurt laughs it off, but he can already feel the inquisitive eyes of Petrus scanning him.

—You guys are seeing things.

—Yes, we’ve been for a while, took you two long enough to notice. —okay, Kurt is definitely going to kill that asshole of a sailor. Perhaps some other day. By now, he leaves with an excuse to go check on Theodre.

* * *

Céra seems a reasonable person.

She looks like it, but, alas, she’s in love. Theodre underestimates it. While scouting the cave, Petrus realizes as soon as Constantin’s name escapes her lips. He sees the subtle change in Céra’s eyes.

He doesn’t say a word, though, not until Céra is out of the way. The dark feeling in his chest starts to yell he’s right. Of course he is. He readies his ring glancing at Theodre, then at the murals. No other _renaigse_ will likely be allowed into this place for a long time. If ever. However, there is nothing besides resolve in Petrus’ eyes as they meet Theodre’s.

—My child, I would follow her. I don’t think she intends to merely take some air.

So he’s not the only one to notice. A chill running down his spine, Kurt nods.

—Yeah, mentioning Constantin changed something. —realization spreads slowly throw Theodre’s features, quickly followed by anger, how could she be so clumsy? Kurt yearns to kiss her temple, she knows he does, but he sighs briefly instead. —Let’s hurry.

And, when the entrance to the cave has been blocked from the outside, Theodre feels as if the curtain has been finally lifted. There is no denial left.

This was inevitable. No path left to take. Nothing but this.

Theodre is barely a meter ahead of the squad, al, of them ready at the sight of the natives blocking their path to the mountain. Vinbarr has Constantin. Vinbarr is right up ahead.

Céra knows that as well as they do, that’s why she’s blocking the path, not even blinking as they approach.

There was no way to avoid this, yet Theodre’s insides lurch and scream seeing the look on Céra’s face.

—We just want to talk to him, Céra —Theodre insists. She thinks about ordering her teammates to drop their weapons to emphasize her point, but she has seen enough battles throughout her life to recognize the determination glowing hungrily in her eyes. She won’t risk their lives in front of those pupils.

It hurts. Enough blood has been shed by this.

—Céra, please...

—You love these people surrounding you. Would you stop defending them if I asked you to?

—We want to save Constantin. Nothing more! —her voice is on the verge of desperation. —We don’t want to fight Vinbarr!

—Whatever he is doing, he does so for Tír Fradí. —Céra raises her chin, pride obvious in her face. — _En ol míl fríchtimen_ asked him to. —then, fast, she switches to her own tongue. For a moment, they all tense, preparing for a spell, but Síora interrupts before they could draw their weapons:

— _En ol míl fríchtimen_ requested the murder of a _doneigad_? Of Catasach above all? Don’t even try, Céra. I refuse to believe it.

The talking is done, it seems, for Céra and the people surrounding her ready their weapons. Theodre yells trying to stop it one last time, her voice angry and desperate:

—It doesn’t have to end like this!

She takes half a step back and her companions brace themselves for the fight. Kurt will never know what does it, because all of them react and he moves just like them. Perhaps he’s a bit faster, a bit more anxious, a bit more worried. But anyway, Céra notices. She stares right at him, her eyes never doubting when she says:

—You too would do whatever it took for the sake of your _Minundhamen_.

Kurt thinks again about the secrecy.

Theodre has never asked for privacy, not among their team. It’s his call. She always lets him set the peace because she doesn’t want to compromise him, who would no longer be another subordinate, no longer an equal to the others. He is the one who wants for this to be a secret for now, to protect them both. He is the one who wants this to never be exposed, to be always his, theirs alone.

He won’t lie to the honest eyes of this woman who is about to sacrifice everything to stop them. He could.

He doesn’t care.

—I would. —he admits, his hoarse voice naked and honest.

Céra, for some reason, seems satisfied by his answer. She unsheathes her sword with a determined smile that lights up her proud eyes, her conviction. She steps back as well.

—It has.

_It has to end this way because this is the way the odds are. There is nothing left for us._

—It has. —he admits. Then the battle begins.

Theodre will never forget the look in this woman’s eyes as the proud light leaves them forever.

* * *

Whatever is going on here, is wrong.

Kurt almost shivers when he sees Constantin, eaten by a wall of rocks. By sheer instinct, Kurt holds De Sardet. In the next moment she’s trying to shake him off, wrestling against his grip with the force of panic, her eyes never leaving the eerie silhouette ahead, while her throat breaks with a scream:

—Constantin! LET HIM GO!

Síora had already warned them about metamorphoses. To some, it lasted a long while. For others, the change was sudden.

There is a difference between knowing someone can shape into another creature quite fast and seeing with your very own eyes how their body twists and transforms at their will.

The _nadaig_ that once was Vinbarr attacks them with a fast blow. Petrus blocks it with his shield, luckily for Kurt, who is too busy blocking Constantin from Theodre with his body to properly defend.

—Theodre! Thee! Now we have to fight!

—Kurt, he’s dying! —she screams. She wrestles so strongly Kurt is sure his grip on her shoulders must hurt. Okay, never have those eyes stared at him with that much rage. Kurt takes a deep breath.

—He will die unless we stop Vinbarr, Greenblood! —in an act of stupidity and, why not admit it, pure faith, he releases her to cup her cheeks with his hands, looking right into her eyes. —Help us, Thee, please, then we can help him.

Not at all convinced, but more in an absolute leap of faith, Kurt releases her. Theodre breathes in painfully slowly. None of them seems bothered by the lethal fight around them. Theodre stares into Kurt’s clear eyes for a second. She can see how they panic when she readies her ring, but they don’t move. They leave the decision to her. Theodre turns around and strikes what once was Vinbarr with her most powerful spell and a scream that conveys all of her pain, her despair and, for once, her hatred.

The battle is savage. They have to fight with a careful balance between pursuing the _nadaig_ and protecting Constantin. Sometimes, protecting Theodre as well, whose rage is blinding. It shines like a torch in the battlefield, it blinds her in the succession of quick, agressive spells that leave her panting and feeling as if her veins had been ripped open. It calls to the _nadaig_ ’s ears, making it haunt Theodre whenever it can. Theodre, for the first time since they know her, is fighting alone. Doesn’t matter if her companions are helping. Doesn’t matter if they are sometimes the only thing that allows her to catch some air or that helps her dodge that lethal attack. She is never counting on them, not even looking at them. She fights alone. It is a terrible thought that makes Kurt’s insides itch.

The _nadaig_ stumbles. Before it even hits the ground, Theodre throws her ring to the ground, its metal glistering and freezing in her arms forgotten for once. She throws herself to the ground next to Constantin.

There is a deafening silence now here, or perhaps her brain is too muddled to process the shocks of power and the smell of blood that still lingers in the air. She removes the stone imprisoning him with a grimace and presses him as close to her as their skins allow.

—He’s alive! —she yells with a tone of utter disbelief. Aphra kneels next to her, Síora readies her healing spell because Theodre has fought with such an urgency there is no magic left in her veins.

—We have to take him to New Serène. Fast, child —reluctantly, Theodre obeys. Kurt takes Constantin from her embrace to carry him. She wishes so hard to cry that, for a moment, her vision blurs and she doesn’t see the hand Vasco is leaning her.

The sound of her own words makes her heart sing.

_Constantin is alive._

* * *

Another trip that will leave no memories in her exhausted brain, Theodre thinks, but she doesn’t care.

Constantin is alive. More than that: despite his aspect, it looks like, whatever Catasach did, it worked. He’s unconscious for now, and he looks paler than ever, and now besides the malichor’s sequels, he bears something resembling the _en ol menawi_ mark... but there is no malichor left in his veins. The blood is now of pure red, the opposite image of that black flask that still haunts Thee in her nightmares.

Constantin no longer has the malichor. Theodre is so relieved she could cry, had she had enough strength left. By now, she just breathes shakily as her tired body hits the bed.

She can hear the rumor on the lower floor, but she doesn’t care. However, she doesn’t sleep, either. When Kurt enters the room, cozy eyes survey the entrance. Even through the clouds of sleep, they lit up when they meet him. Kurt has to stop and take a deep breath to overcome the tenderness spreading there, in front of him, just for him.

—Come here —she asks. Okay, okay, Theodre just trying to end him, nothing new under the sun. He roots his feet to the ground because he doesn’t trust his traitor body.

—Are you sure? —he asks. Theodre rolls her eyes as a wide grin takes over her lips.

—I won’t ever hesitate when it comes to touching more of you.

—Thee —he groans, but his feet move before he can prevent them. He sits down next to her; quickly, Theodre pulls him down. With a giggle, she nests herself against his neck, with such a spontaneity that makes it look like she always belonged there.

—Theee.

—Yess?

—I came in here with a purpose.

—What purpose could be better than this?

 _Such good questions she asks sometimes_ , Kurt thinks to himself. Somehow he manages to resist the urge to kiss her softest, welcoming lips.

—Let me take a look at you.

She raises her eyebrows.

—What? Asking dirty things already, Kurt?

Come ooon. Kurt can feel his cheeks burning, blushing, and the only thing he can do is to hide his face behind his hands. Theodre then proceeds to kiss those fingers to remove them.

—It’s not like that.

—What is it then?

—Your injuries.

Now it’s Theodre’s turn to groan, mouthing something on the line of _come ooon, mood-killer_.

—I’m fine.

—Judging by the way you fought, there is no way you could be fine.

She grimaces, but she doesn’t resist when he pulls up her shirt to check on her. He studies her skin, using mostly the touch, the moon has almost completely kicked the sun out of the sky already. Kurt pretends not to notice the goosebumps that spread through her skin under his fingers.

—Like what you see? —she teases. Kurt doesn’t buy it, a stern glare to greet her eyes.

—They bled, Thee.

She surges forward to kiss his forehead and that works. Kurt gives up with a weary sigh.

—I’m _fine_.

—Promise me.

—That I’ll kiss you all night long?

—Theeee. —it’s really bloody hard to be serious when those eyes are melting just by looking at him. The tenderness they give off tastes addictively good. —That you’ll tell me if it gets worse. If they hurt bad or if you think something is wrong.

—I will.

—Please. —he cups her head and it is now his turn to kiss her, her lips, always hugging him with their kindness and, well, love. Theodre sighs with content under his touch.

—Kurt: I will. I haven’t changed the bandages, this is all they bled during a damn fight with metamorphosed _doineígad_. I’m _fine_ , I’m not going to die over this.

—You better promise me that.

She giggles and moves to kiss his eyelids, to pour all of her love into him through her breathing. Damn, it works.

—Kurt, it’s fine. Everything is fine.

—It’s so damn hard to believe. —he sighs before pressing her body against his, close, as close as it was physically capable of. How could bodies that had never met before fit like this?

—We earned it.

Kurt searches for her hand, blocked between their bodies. He grasps it, stretches it, and Theodre squeezes it back.

—Yeah. Yeah, we did. It’s just... I’m having a hard time believing this is real. I... Everything’s fine. No one is going to kill you, you are not dying, Constantin is fine, and... And I can kiss you. And when I do, you kiss me back. I just...

Usually, Kurt has enough brain to shut his stupid mouth before saying things this mushy. Having her looking at him this way shoot his walls down and Kurt blushes, thinks of a way to backtrack, but Theodre has her brain intact. It’s her heart the one doing funny things inside her ribcage. Her eyes widen, shine with tears before she sinks into his arms, her forehead pressing against his chest with all her strength.

It is worth saying such things just to see the effect on her.

—You’re so sweet. I’m never letting you go.

His heart skips a beat as he inhales sharply. How can she say that with that tone that mutes the world outside? She has already stated how deeply she cares for him, for his grumpiness, his bad sense of humor, his scars, all of him. It’s just impossible. He doesn’t even have enough breath to start denying it all. And what if the spell finally breaks? What if the tight fear nested inside his chest becomes true and she realizes he was right all along?

—I’m not that. —he mumbles. He expects her to nod, or to argue, or to get mad. Instead, Theodre kisses his jaw with a tenderness that should not be allowed anywhere, Kurt is pretty much sure no human heart could endure it. His, at least, hurts.

—Shut up and kiss me, okay?

Kurt snickers. He can do that. No matter if it’s hard to accept that these eyes have decided to look like this only for him. They light up when he kisses them, so that’s what’s he’ll be doing.

—All night long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the mushy stuff. I really like it, even though it ended up being quite cruel knowing what comes next. Blame the writers of the game.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still remember perfectly after all these months later the moment those exact words left En ol menawi's "mouth". My heart dropped. Also Theodre's, according to her voice. I hope I conveyed it all properly y'all.  
> I also hope you're all doing alright (the most used sentence here these months, but how could it not be). Sorry for the long delay! I have another chapter fully written, don't worry.

The volcano doesn’t live up to its name.

Inside it lays a landscape that sums up all the legends of unknown lands, of immense powers, of magnificent islanders whose wonders could not be believed by the outsider. Seeing this feels like every story of power and wonders can become true.

The team stares at the surroundings with different levels of mouth–dropping, but the awe can be felt in the air among them.

Theodre climbs a rock to see higher, further, because the wonder knows no end here. She lets out a trembling sigh in disbelief. Kurt jumps next to her. Perhaps because this makes him feel braver, perhaps because he no longer wants to sacrifice any more moments next to her just because of what others may think. Theodre smiles widely at him.

Vasco turns around with a laugh. Un–fucking–believable. He gestures towards everywhere with his arms wide open.

—Do you realize how privileged we are to witness this? There’s nothing like this in the continent. This... —she ends with a soft laugh of disbelief. This is beyond possible. This cannot be true.

Aphra frowns, still smiling, though. Nothing could take that smile away from her lips, her naturalist soul taking in the view that sings to her ears.

—We destroyed it all.

Petrus lays a hand over his chest, begging his heart to slow down. This is what the scriptures must have spoken of. There can be nothing purer, more beautiful than what he has lived to witness.

—If the nations found out...

Vasco snorts, looking at the way the one native smiles at them. The look of someone who can finally share what she knew all along.

—Why are you not surprised? —he raises an eyebrow. Síora smiles warmly.

—I feel this in my veins any time I touch the earth, _renaigse_. I don’t need eyes. I’ve been here before. I’ve always been here.

Theodre laughs. Smiling, Kurt squeezes her hand for a moment before stepping down the vantage point, but Theodre stays there a little longer.

—No thoughts, De Sardet? —snickers Vasco. —Your _on ol menawi_ blood has nothing to say?

—It is singing! —she answers with another laugh. Kurt finds it really difficult to suppress his urge to kiss her endlessly.

Thee finally jumps down the rock, still this satisfied smile on her face of belonging somewhere, of being at ease, even if her voice is grave.

—We have to protect this. The heart of the isle, Anemhaid. No matter what.

Now it’s Aphra’s turn to snicker.

—I thought we were already committed to that.

Theodre is already leading their way to the top, always to the right, but she turns around for a moment.

—More than ever.

When _En ol míl fríchtimen_ speaks, Theodre is sure her blood really _is_ singing, echoing the sounds of the voice of a god inside her. The sound doesn’t come through her ears, it resonates inside her, speaking through her cells and her skin where her feet touch the earth, through the pulsing pain of her cut hand.

Alright, talking to a god could have gone worse. It knows their struggle, it knows how to stop it. The key is to treat the earth as the natives do. So the earth is causing the malichor.

In other words: they are inflicting the malichor to themselves.

Poetic justice.

The topic, however, changes fast.

_I have seen by your side the shadow grow, taking form... Fed by the venom of intrigues from faraway lands, he spreads it today in me. To save his own life, he stole my strength, and that strength has driven him mad because it is not made to be taken. He draws each day a little more from me and threatens us all... His hunger has no limit._

Theodre can feel her blood freezing in her veins. It is not accusing her, but it is talking about her.

—I don’t understand! —there’s pure shock in her voice, but she doesn’t mask it, she doesn’t care. For once, she’s past protocols. —Who are you talking about?

 _The one you call Constantin._ With running–out patience, _en ol míl frichtimen_ goes on, not even leaving her time to take breath and try to comprehend. _You must stop him. Or there will be no more cure for anything or anyone._

—That’s... —her voice shakes. She barely registers the shaky breath Kurt exhales. —That’s impossible! How could that be?

This time, there is a pause, brief as the blink of an eye, before its raucous voice fills back the air.

_You must leave now. Someone has followed your footsteps. Someone has entered here without invitation._

Síora takes half a step back. So does Theodre. Something is changing in the air.

Perhaps it’s because of the magic in her veins powered by her ring, or her _on ol menawi_ blood putting up with all of Vasco’s jokes, but it is a feeling spreading through the atmosphere with the strength of a lightning. Its voice, when it speaks again, is ominous.

_My children are waking and tracking. They will attack **everyone**. Flee... or you will be their victim._

—Theodre —says Síora, and De Sardet doesn’t like the sound of her usually calm voice. She takes a step back, but she can’t leave with all these questions unanswered in the air, her heart clenching at them.

She better learn to, because there is no other option. The creature in front of her, the closest child to _en ol míl frichtimen,_ stares at them for a split second, its claws piercing the magnificent tree. The warning works. De Sardet turns and they run.

* * *

Can a god lie?

Can a god name the human, the very specific parasite killing it? Can it be that specific? Can it notice its mere existence to that point? Can it be really harmed at all?

Can it be true?

A snap right next to her ear makes her curse. Vasco, as always, is immune to her glare.

—Back to the mortals, De Sardet?

—Leave me be, Vasco, I can’t play with you tonight. Go annoy the other children —she grunts. The sailor merely smirks before sitting down with the others. They all seem more or less unbothered by the... news, for the lack of a better name. They chat as usual. They scoff at each other as usual. They don’t look any different. They just... enjoy the time after a quest. Enjoy the little things, the company, the good taste of hope before it is scattered, just... enjoy the end of what could have been much worse.

This is merely starting.

After having dinner, they enjoy their usual talk, but, even if Theodre is too busy with her own thoughts, she notices the stare fixated on her.

—Kurt, everything alright?

—Yes. Why do you ask?

She ducks her head, puzzled, but Kurt then stares at Síors, listening –or pretending to– to her story about that time Derdre first saw her bounding as a _doneígad_. But his eyes don’t take in her tale.

Not that much time later, Kurt gets up and leaves claiming to stretch his legs. His movements are quietly tracked by De Sardet, uneasy. He’s restless, that’s much is for sure.

—So, we were talking last night.

Come on, not now. Theodre turns towards Aphra wanting to laugh and to cry very hard at the same time.

—You don’t say.

—Yes. And the thing is Kurt’s reaction was quite enlightening.

As she glares, Theodre lets a minimal part of her brain feel compassion for Kurt and his rushed departure.

—Do you have anything to do with this? Whatever “this” is?

—No!

—What is this, actually? —asks Síora, but no one really pays attention to that part. The others are funnier.

—You know, the way he and Céra spoke... —Aphra shrugs it off. —You can’t really blame us.

—I can and I will. —she crosses her arms. —What did you do?

—We just suggested you two were spending some time together off the record, alone, entangled, that sort of thing.

Okay, whatever “this” is, that _does_ have something to do with it. Theodre allows herself to groan out loud before standing.

—What? —Vasco arches his eyebrow in genuine surprise. —No denial? No hiding? No playing hide and seek? No cat and the mouse?

—No statements whatsoever. —she touches around in the dark, finds a bottle, discards it and finally locates her ring. Her veins shiver at the connection, but she dismisses it as she stands once again.

Theodre was determined to ignore these bastards, but part of Síora is serious now as she speaks:

—If Kurt is your _Minundhamen_ perhaps you should let it clear to him.

Her half–step freezes, no other motion through her body. The more she considers it, the more certain she is. That is it, isn’t it?

—Perhaps I should. —she says aloud before stepping into the woods.

She leaves behind a bunch of completely astonished teammates who have now the aspect of a fish suddenly out of the water.

—Did she just admit...

—Technically, she _did_ , didn’t she?

—I don’t know!

Thee encounters Kurt on his way back. His half–smile vanishes when she points at him.

—We’re talking.

—Now?

Theodre sits down on a root.

—Right here, right now. —with a warm smile, she adds—: If that’s O.K. with you.

He returns her smile easily. It never seems hard now when it’s Theodre he’s talking to.

—Whatever you want. —that phrasing, for some reason, makes her face change. —What’s wrong?

—This is not about what _I_ want, Kurt. It’s just that I noticed that you only take the initiative when I’m really bad.

He doesn’t argue. Bad sign. Although he doesn’t look half as nervous as she feels, that must mean something. He just shifts his way from one foot to the other.

—So?

—So I know you, Kurt. You’re not one to hesitate. You like to take the lead, to move, to act. What’s stopping you? —it makes him cringe. Subtly, really subtle, but Thee notices all the same. —Don’t get me wrong. You have every right to hesitate, to need time, to clear your mind. What I fear is that your hesitations come from me. You know you can talk to me.

Right. He should, actually. Kurt takes a deep breath before he starts.

—You... and I started with this when you were in bad spirits. I thought I could offer you some comfort.

Theodre nods.

—Alright.

—And now you don’t need comfort, I guess. I’m not really sure what you want me to be now. If... you want me at all, that is.

Thee snickers.

Her eyes stay firmly focused on him when she laughs. Briefly, intently. A bit exasperated.

—Kurt, if you ever ask again whether I’m sure, I’ll kick you out of my tent naked for everyone to see how angry yet sure I am.

He chuckles with that. Like they did the day they confessed, but the other way around, Kurt extends his hand and Theodre takes it without a doubt. He approaches her, a shy smile on his eyes.

—Kurt. I needed comfort. Aphra, Vasco, Síora, Petrus comforted me without getting to my bed. None of them kissed me. I wouldn’t do that if I weren’t sure. I was hurting, but I was still an adult with a clear mind, with my own feelings clear, as they had been for the previous months. If I hadn’t been sure, I would have told you.

—I... I find this really hard to believe, it’s just that.

—Stop thinking something is too good to be truly happening to you, please. —she sighs, no small amount of sadness conveyed in her voice. Kurt reacts to it caressing her cheek, though Theodre’s eyes don’t blink. —You’re suffering and in no case I want that. Either you believe in this, you believe me, or you don’t. But I’m afraid you have to choose.

—Okay —he mutters, hypnotized by the touch, as it tends to happen.

—I am sure. I really, really, really, like you. —he melts, she sees he does, but she can’t stop here. —And if one day, I’m not, I’ll tell you. I trust you. You trust me. Talk to me. I want you to feel comfortable with whatever we have. I need you to.

The sigh against her hand cupping his cheek could melt ice, if someone asked her opinion.

—I am, I just...

She knows she’s incredibly lucky to get to see that part of him, just for her, so unguarded. When he hesitates, Theodre adds another hand to her previous one.

—You’re not some tool I’m using to improve my mood and that I’ll discard when I have no use left for it. You know me better.

In a slow movement, Kurt lowers his head to better aim for her ear, which he kisses, softly, endlessly. He has noticed before its effect and now is no different. Theodre surrounds his neck with her arms not helping herself*, a hum in her throat, the part he moves to kiss next. It vibrates under his lips. It makes him grin.

—I do, don’t I.

—So you’re up for a session of kissing? I’m on, I just want to be sure.

Kurt stops with a groan. That is not fair, not at all. Panting, longing, he stares at Theodre. He has no idea how his hand got to her hair, but she seems beyond O.K. with it.

_They’ll find out._

—Whatever you want. —she smiles. No regrets, no shame, no resignation, only acceptance.

—Let them find out. —he mutters before submerging in her maddening taste once more.

* * *

The ambassadors leave the palace to let them talk. De Sardet is too lost in her own thoughts to notice.

—Hikmet and Saint Matheus both attacked at the same time. —Constantin grins, which gives him an odd appearance with the mixture of malichor and _on ol menawi_ he looks like now. —What a great work you have been doing this time, Theodre, for they come to ask for our help and not because they suspect us... the most likely enemy.

—It is always easier for them to suspect the natives, of course. —she sighs wearily. But god, she had missed these briefings with him. She has missed him deeply. She regains composure. —I’ll talk to them.

—Something else troubles you, child. —Petrus’ eyes scan hers. He has always acted like some kind of mentor, guiding her, surveying her progress, advising wisely. Perhaps that spark, that proud glitter he can't quite conceal, was there from the start. Theodre just noticed recently. —Feel free to speak your mind, if you wish.

Okay, she had plenty of signs implying there was more to it than “I knew you when you barely knew how to walk and now I simply want to come along”. The spark, however, doesn't make her as uneasy as when Petrus confessed. Not quite.

Theodre sighs and thinks aloud.

—I’m puzzled. It is strange. For both our allies to be attacked at the same time is hardly good news. Even if they do not suspect us and our alliances are not in immediate danger, the balance of powers is fragile. This may be merely bad luck, but I don’t like the timing. Let’s hope this is not the start of the war.

—Have faith, _Carants_. Don’t give up yet. —Síora says. Theodre nods to her.

—Yes, I will. Sorry, Síora.

—So you will be joining them, princess? —Constantin has an intrigued look on his bright eyes. Síora is the one to nod now.

—Of course. My people are being wrongfully accused and I want to prove it.

—Wonderful. Your assistance is always priceless to us. May I ask about you, Vasco? The Nauts don’t seem to be involved in this.

—I’d like to go as well, if I may. —he says carefully. Theodre doesn’t assist him despite his obvious uneasy explaining his reasons to come along to a _noble_ , a grin on her face, watching intently. He doesn’t elaborate and Constantin, much to Theodre’s disappointment, doesn’t press on. He gestures vaguely towards Petrus, Aphra and Kurt.

—Well, no doubt about your other companions. Their nations are the ones threatened, after all. —but that doesn’t apply to the three of them, does it? Constantin focuses then on Kurt, his easy smile back on his face. — And, well, what about you, Kurt? You’ve been with us for so long, but don’t feel forced. We appreciate your company, of course, but perhaps you’d like to stay in the palace or change your destination for some time. —he shakes his head with a hint of sorrow. —No that I can trust anyone else with the life of my cousin, but up to you, Kurt.

—I’m fine following Theodre, your Excellency. I’d like to go on with her. —for some reason, Kurt can’t prevent his cheeks from flushing in an adorable pink, and Theodre doesn’t hide her smile at that. —As long as she’ll have me.

—Of course, I knew I didn’t even need to ask. —Constantin turns to her cousin with a knowing smile. —I don’t picture Kurt leaving your side any time soon.

—Me neither. —she admits softly.

Kurt raises his eyes for a brief second, caught off–guard again, and Theodre’s amused smile widens with tenderness. But the briefing has not ended, so she pushes down her urge to kiss him.

—Back to work it is, then. —Constantin smiles briefly. —Anything else, dear cousin?

Theodre should have been prepared for this, but when the moment comes, she hesitates.

It is perfectly visible, she is aware, but Constantin waits patiently. Well, “patiently” is not the best word when it comes to her cousin: he has always been fast, nervous, fidgety as a squirrel. Now he is perhaps even more nervous, but after a whole day kidnapped and another unconscious, and after a (lethal) long disease such as the malichor... how could he not. He still manages to let her space to think, an intrigued look on his eyes.

Those are his eyes. Constantin’s eyes. He’s back unharmed– more than that, _healed_. This is her, indeed, annoying, dear cousin.

—There’s one thing, actually. —she crosses her arms over her chest, an unconscious, defensive reaction, so perhaps she’s not as certain as she claims to be to herself. — _En ol míl fríchtimen_ said something else. It said someone was destroying Teer Fradee and eroding its powers. —she hesitates once again. How she wishes for Kurt to take her hand now, despite everything. When she raises her eyes to confront Constantin, though, they don’t doubt. —It said it was you.

—Me? —surprise lasts a brief moment before he starts laughing. —And did you believe it? Come on, Theodre! It was just trying to blame me, to turn us against each other, it’s really no wonder.

Only Constantin would think she’d dismiss it just like that, just because he’s like her brother and they know each other perfectly. Only Constantin would know she would.

—I don’t get it. —she uncrosses her arms. —I mean, you’re obviously right, but it explained to us the cause of the malichor and offered its help. Why would it act like this?

—We’re invaders, I guess. —his eyes grow colder, as if he were talking about his parents. He’s not usually that detached, that’s reserved for them. —That’s what some of the natives believe. It’s only natural that their god thinks the same, but we know better. We just want to live here peacefully and what’s more, what would Al–Shaad or Thelème do if there was no Congregation to stop them? The island would be truly eroded to its core, ravaged in their war to exploit it better.

Theodre remembers then who she’s talking to and lets out a deep sigh.

—You’re right, of course. Alright, let’s go to our allies.


End file.
